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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068227">I sure hope that the sun got rhythm ('cause he gonna dance when that music hit'm)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekamohcs/pseuds/rekamohcs'>rekamohcs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Dance, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Boys Being Boys, Dancer AU, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Dancing, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fandom Allusions &amp; Cliches &amp; References, Flirting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heavy Petting, Humor, I'm not kidding that's the entire fic, Implied Relationships, It's all happy there is no sad here, Iwaizumi has a crew, Iwaizumi in a snapback for basically the entire fic, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Strangers to Lovers, Teasing, The Step Up AU that no one asked for but I am happy to be delivering, smooth Iwaizumi, snapbacks, supportive parents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:40:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekamohcs/pseuds/rekamohcs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, look at you. You actually own clothes that don’t belong at a golf club.” Iwaizumi says as he approaches, foregoing a proper greeting.</p><p>Oikawa’s gaze scans over Iwaizumi’s dark joggers and simple navy hoodie. His signature snapback is perched atop his head, backward as usual, dark spikes of hair peeking through the hole at the front. Oikawa gives a prim smile and sticks up his nose. “And you, as usual, look like a street rat.” He chides.</p><p>“Yeah, and how do you expect to move your body in jeans that tight, pretty boy?”</p><p>Oikawa’s eyes are half-lidded and annoyingly pretty when he says, “Oh, Hajime – you know I can move my body exactly as I need to no matter what I am or am <i>not</i> wearing.”</p><p>---</p><p>Iwaizumi Hajime is a street dancer. When he starts at Seijou School for the Arts, he isn’t sure what to expect – but it certainly isn’t the whirlwind that is the classically-trained, preppy, and popular Oikawa Tooru.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime &amp; Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>best fanfictions my eyes have seen yeah, fics i come back to all the time</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I sure hope that the sun got rhythm ('cause he gonna dance when that music hit'm)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Y’ALL I DON’T KNOW THIS IS SO SELF INDULGENT. I went on a binge of watching the Step Up and Magic Mike dances and god dammit, I needed to write this. Disclaimer that I am NOT a dancer, I have no knowledge of what is true or good or correct other than what Google and the aforementioned movies can teach me. </p><p>And no, I did NOT plan for this to be 28000 words long. WILD how that happens, right?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Iwaizumi Hajime, at seventeen years of age, has been dancing since the moment he first figured out how to stand on his own two feet.</p><p>Not professionally, of course – his family could never afford to send him to actual dance lessons. Instead, he started dancing in the school playground, impromptu dance offs with the other grade school kids eventually leading into actual street dancing over the years. It didn’t take him long to find himself a crew – his closest and most trusted friends that he’s learned almost everything he knows from. </p><p>Today, it is the first day of his first year at Seijou School for the Arts. It is his first day undergoing an actual formal dance education. His mom had surprised him with setting up an audition for him at the beginning of summer, which was – well, it was a big deal because Seijou School for the Arts was a big deal.</p><p>And by some miraculous grace of God, there was an acceptance letter in their mailbox for Iwaizumi a few weeks later.</p><p>So, it is the first day of his first year at Seijou School for the Arts. Iwaizumi hikes his bag up over his shoulder and takes one last look in the mirror, straightening out his signature black and red snapback. He’s got it slung on backwards as usual, tamping down his dark spikes of hair.</p><p>He leaves his house with a quick kiss to his mom’s cheek and a wave goodbye to his dad. His mom tries to fuss at him – “You have money for lunch, right?”, “You know the way to your classroom?”, “Do you have your keys?”, “Is your phone completely charged?”, but he waves her concerns away with flushed cheeks and a groan of, “Yes, ma, I’m going to be <em>fine</em>.”</p><p>His first class is Contemporary Dance. He thinks it’ll be interesting to get some new techniques under his belt. He might have something to bring back and teach his crew – something to finally give back to them, since they’ve taught him everything he knows.</p><p>He glances down at the paper schedule he printed out the night before, checking to make sure he has the room number correct when someone gently taps him on the shoulder.</p><p>“Excuse me? Are you lost?”</p><p>The voice that cuts into Iwaizumi’s thoughts is soft and lilting. The boy it belongs to is a few centimetres taller than Iwaizumi with auburn locks of hair that swoop over his forehead, soft and fluffy. He has high cheekbones and sharp shoulders, pretty, round eyes and an overly charming smile on his lips. He is dressed in a navy button-down and pressed, tan slacks. If the way he holds himself doesn’t scream <em>I come from a family with money</em>, then the watch on his wrist and the shine to his shoes certainly do.</p><p>There is a stupid amount of people staring at the boy. A few girls pass by and giggle, “Hi, Oikawa, looking good today!”</p><p>The boy, Oikawa, shoots them a dashing, radiant smile, and says, “Not nearly as lovely as you ladies!”</p><p>Iwaizumi feels his gut twist in annoyance.</p><p>“No, I’m pretty sure I’m where I’m supposed to be.” Iwaizumi mutters, glancing back at the room number.</p><p>Oikawa steps forward and leans over Iwaizumi’s shoulder, butting his way into his space to peer at the paper in Iwaizumi’s hand nosily. “Oh! You’re taking Contemporary Dance, too!” He offers Iwaizumi a wide smile. “This’ll be fun. I’m Oikawa Tooru.”</p><p>Iwaizumi raises a brow. “Iwaizumi Hajime.” He offers, with much less enthusiasm. Everything about this prep-school boy makes Iwaizumi’s hackles raise. He is less than impressed with his <em>Mr. Popular </em>aura. That’s never been Iwaizumi’s scene.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa exclaims, the nickname rolling off his tongue easily. Iwaizumi blanches at the name.</p><p>“The fuck did you just call me?”</p><p>Oikawa’s brows raise into his hairline as he gives Iwaizumi a condescending once-over. “Language, <em>Iwa-chan!” </em>He chides, voice a little nasally. “You should feel honored to receive a nickname from <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Iwaizumi, irritated, rolls his eyes. “Oh, please.” He snorts, unimpressed. “Your pretty face and charming disposition don’t impress me.”</p><p>Oikawa looks genuinely caught off guard, as if no one has ever resisted his charms before. He sticks up his nose haughtily, making Iwaizumi place him into the category of <em>spoiled rich kid</em> even more. “Well, <em>excuse me</em> for trying to be polite.” He sneers, pushing past Iwaizumi to open the door. He waltzes into the room with a huff, leaving Iwaizumi feelings entirely too exhausted when he hasn’t even had his first class of the day, yet.</p><p>Iwaizumi rubs a hand down his face and then steps into the room as well. Many of the students are already there, rifling through their notebooks, scrolling on their phones, some even stretching. The room is large and rectangular, with a full row of mirrors down one wall. There are wooden benches against the perimeter of the room and a few scattered desk chairs stacked in the corner, but otherwise, the room is a wide and empty expanse of space. Iwaizumi assumes it has been designed that way for dancing purposes.</p><p>When the bell rings, a tall man with dyed blonde spikes of hair walks through the door. He looks young, with broad shoulders and a wide smile. “Hey there, kids,” He greets as he walks in and sets a messenger bag on the floor. “I’m Ukai – I’ll be your instructor for Contemporary Dance. On that note, if you’re <em>not</em> supposed to be in Contemporary Dance right now and have somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the wrong classroom, you should probably see yourself out. We won’t judge you as you go.” He jokes, broad smile on his lips. “Too much.”</p><p>Iwaizumi decides he likes Ukai.</p><p>No one gets up to leave, so Ukai continues. He pulls out a clipboard and taps at it with a pen. “Okay so,” He begins, “We’re going to jump right in. I’m technically going to take attendance, but here’s how it’s going to work. One, we all have varying levels of experience and style, and I need to observe them all to see what I’m working with. Two, performing in front of others is an unavoidable side-effect of being a dancer.” He pauses, eyeing the room to see if any students look particularly stricken by those words. There is one young boy with dark, green-tinted hair and a splattering of speckles across his cheeks that looks a little nauseous. “With both of those in mind, when I call your name, I want you to briefly introduce yourself and give us all a quick demo of your dancing – you can do anything you want.” He finishes. Then, as if realizing that he shouldn't give a group of teenagers that much power, he amends, "As long as it's school appropriate."</p><p>This is not what Iwaizumi expected for his first class, but it doesn’t seem unreasonable. He’s interested to see the students’ styles – except for Oikawa’s.</p><p>“Okay. First up, Sugawara Koushi.”</p><p>A boy with pretty silver hair stands. He has delicate-looking, pale skin and a beauty mark by his eye. He offers the class a warm smile. “Hi everyone, I’m Sugawara Koushi – please, call me Suga.” He greets. “I’ve been taking dance lessons now for about three years. I’d say my style is probably best fit to Jazz.”</p><p>He does not hesitate, then, to offer a quick preview of his talent. He moves his body effortlessly, fluid, and quick, even without music. Iwaizumi is impressed.</p><p>When he is done, Suga takes his seat back. Ukai scribbles some notes furiously on his paper and then says, “Asahi Azumane.”</p><p>The student who stands looks like a full-grown man. He has long, elegant red hair that is pulled back into a low bun and a tuft of stubble at his chin. He looks around at the other students nervously. “Uh, hi, everyone. I’m Asahi. I started dance lessons when I was six.”</p><p>And then he gives his own preview. Iwaizumi is a bit surprised that Asahi looks to be almost exclusively a ballet dancer. His is flexible and precise in his movements, somehow managing to make himself look delicate in the way his body flows despite his broad and solid build.</p><p>It continues like this – each student introducing themselves and offering a taste of their talent to their peers. Hanamaki Takahiro has bright pink hair, recently dyed, and has been learning various forms of Jazz and Flamenco dance since he was four. Akaashi Keiji, a handsome boy with dark hair and sharp eyes, is a classically trained ballet dancer. Kozume Kenma, with his long blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, doesn’t really have a preferred style, but has been taking various dance classes for the past three years.</p><p>Lev Haiba, a tall, <em>tall </em>boy with cropped, silver hair, and Shirabu Kenjirou, a short and petite boy with angled, blonde bangs, both have mainly been taught in swing dance. Tsukishima Kei, a lanky, blonde with glasses that do nothing to hide his uninterested expression, and Yamaguchi Tadashi, a soft-spoken boy with freckles dusting his cheeks, have grown up taking classes together since they were four. Kageyama Tobio, a strait-laced boy with dark hair and startling blue eyes, is another classically trained ballet dancer.</p><p>It does not take Iwaizumi long to see a trend – all of these students were professionally trained in some way throughout their lives. He is certain he is the only one here who hasn’t been. Iwaizumi shifts in his seat restlessly at the thought.</p><p>There are a couple of girls that introduce themselves after Kageyama. Then, Ukai says, “Great.” He takes a moment to write something down, and then, “Okay, Oikawa Tooru.”</p><p>Oikawa stands languidly, almost catlike, and turns to look at his peers. He is annoyingly confident in himself. “Hello, everyone!” He waves both his hands in the air, offering a wide, charming smile that makes Iwaizumi narrow his eyes. “I’m Oikawa. I’ve been dancing since I was four. I’ve done all sorts of different styles, but I’d have to say my favorite is probably Jazz dance.”</p><p>Then, he begins to move.</p><p>It is obvious that this Oikawa Tooru has been dancing for a long time. He is light on his feet, integrating various forms of dance in his movements seamlessly. He is stupidly flexible, bending in ways that Iwaizumi certainly can’t, and he is absolutely breathtaking.</p><p>The girls beside Iwaizumi on the bench whisper quietly among themselves, giggling like lovestruck puppies. It makes Iwaizumi feel irrationally irritated.</p><p>Oikawa sways his hips as he steps forward toward the line of students against the wall, flipping forward into some sort of cartwheel that he spins into a roll, and then he is on his feet again in seconds, twisting his body and leaping. When he lands, it is nearly silent.</p><p>Iwaizumi hates to admit that he is impressed. He also hates that he has a strong urge to stand and integrate himself into the dance, to pull Oikawa into a dance off and see how he responds to a challenge.</p><p>That’s what he would do if he were with his crew, if he were out in the streets, at the Grounds – their underground dance venue for street dancers and unofficial competitions. But this isn’t the Grounds – this is Seijou School for the Arts, prestigious and prim.</p><p>Not for the first time today, Iwaizumi feels very out of place.</p><p>Oikawa finishes his prologue with a spin and a bow, like some sort of theatrical star. The girls next to Iwaizumi giggle again, and when Oikawa rises, he shoots them a wink before taking his seat. Iwaizumi frowns.</p><p>Ukai thanks Oikawa and then – <em>finally </em>– calls Iwaizumi’s name. “Alright, our last performance of the day: Iwaizumi Hajime.”</p><p>Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and stands. He puts on the air of confidence he usually does before doing a routine and offers the class a wave of his hand. “Hey, everyone. I’m Iwaizumi. I can’t say I have a lot of professional experience, but I’m a street dancer.”</p><p>The others look at him with interest because he is the oddball out. Oikawa’s gaze narrows and sweeps over Iwaizumi contemplatively, as if sizing him up. Iwaizumi catches Oikawa’s eye before stepping forward and beginning his piece.</p><p>The best descriptor for Iwaizumi’s style is probably somewhere near Hip-Hop, but because he has been trained by a group of other street dancers, he has plenty of other styles in his repertoire. It is odd to dance without music, but weirder things have happened, he supposes. He wastes little time, and steps right into his element, twisting and throwing his body in all of the familiar ways.</p><p>He knows his dancing is less fluid than the others’, knows it is more jagged and forceful, more chaotic, but that doesn’t stop him from giving a good performance. When he finishes, Iwaizumi heaves a deep breath and straightens, taking in the impressed and curious expressions of his peers.</p><p>He feels confident and maybe a little cocky, but he <em>knows </em>he’s a good dancer. He <em>did </em>have to audition for this position. His eyes lock on Oikawa, who is staring at him with an unreadable expression. His eyes gleam analytically, obviously replaying Iwaizumi’s performance and looking for ways to criticize it.</p><p>Iwaizumi raises his chin to the challenge.</p><p>“Thank you, Iwaizumi. That was certainly something.” Ukai says, nodding for Iwaizumi to take his seat.</p><p>“Professor Ukai,” Oikawa pipes up, his voice immediately filling Iwaizumi with irritation. “I think Iwaizumi certainly has some unique moves,” He says, obvious condescension in his tone, “But don’t you think it’s a little too… aggressive?”</p><p>Iwaizumi takes a sip of water and cuts his gaze over to Oikawa. “Rather that than soft and boring.” He rebukes without missing a beat.</p><p>The pink-haired boy sitting next to Oikawa, Hanamaki, lets out a surprised exhale of breath, muttering, “<em>Damn, day one, shots fired,”</em> under his breath. Oikawa looks extremely taken aback from the comment, obviously not used to someone calling his dance moves <em>boring</em>.</p><p>Ukai clears his throat. “Okay, settle down.” He tries to pacify. “Everybody has different styles, and there’s no right or wrong form of dance. We’re here to expand our abilities, and the best way to do that is from observing and learning from others who have different styles than us.”</p><p>It is a diplomatic answer. Oikawa lets his glare linger on Iwaizumi for a moment longer, and Iwaizumi has no problem meeting it with one of his own. After a tense beat, Oikawa looks away in a huff, anger and embarrassment tinting his cheeks.</p><p>Iwaizumi breathes a heavy sigh and tries to calm his irritation. It’s going to be a long year.</p><p>---</p><p>When Iwaizumi meets up with a couple friends from his crew after his first day of school, he feels tightly strung and in need of some major decompression.</p><p>“Iwaizumi, my sweet son. How was your first day of school?”</p><p>A tall man with a nest of bed-head hair smirks down at Iwaizumi, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Iwaizumi shrugs him off but can’t fight the smile that spreads across his lips. “Kuroo, you’re only two years older than me.” He retorts, picking his snapback up from his head to run his hands through his hair. He exhales deeply. “Honestly, it was hell.”</p><p>“Oh?” A second voice pops up from behind him. He turns around and catches sight of a broad man with crazy silver spikes of hair. He is carrying a grocery bag. Iwaizumi eyes it and hopes there is a meat bun in there somewhere for him.</p><p>“Hey, Bokuto.” Iwaizumi greets with a lazy wave. Before he can even ask, Bokuto grabs a bun out of the bag and tosses it to him. “Thanks, man!”</p><p>Bokuto waves him off with a wide smile. “No problem. So, school was rough for our little seedling, huh?”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and suppresses the urge to comment on their ages <em>again</em>. “Yeah. I mean, class itself is cool. The school is nice. But – there’s this… this <em>pretty boy</em>,” Iwaizumi hisses, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes in exasperation, “And he just – he thinks he’s so <em>cool</em> because he’s got designer clothes and a fan club or some shit.” He stops abruptly, realizing that he’s rambling. “He just – he annoys me. He’s in my class.”</p><p>Bokuto and Kuroo exchange a glance with a shared smirk. Kuroo reaches out and pats Iwaizumi on the shoulder sympathetically, but he can’t keep the amused smile from peeling its way across his lips. “Aw, that’s too bad, kid.” He pauses and then says, “I’m sure it’ll get better.”</p><p>---</p><p>It doesn’t get better, but they form a routine.</p><p>Iwaizumi walks into class, Oikawa makes a passive aggressive comment to a peer about how the <em>school really needs to be more selective with its applicants! </em>Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a deadpan glare, and Oikawa offers him a fake, tight-lipped smile.</p><p>They absolutely cannot be partners. Ukai tried to get them to work together a couple of times, but each time, it ended with someone almost getting hurt because they both would try and go <em>faster, harder, riskier </em>to show the other up.</p><p>Instead, Iwaizumi partners with different classmates and Oikawa criticizes his movements from the sidelines. Oikawa swings his partner around and Iwaizumi gives him uninterested and unimpressed looks.</p><p>Sometimes, Oikawa throws little paper balls at Iwaizumi’s head when Ukai isn’t looking. Iwaizumi, annoyed, calls him a <em>goddamn child.</em></p><p>Outside of class, Oikawa giggles with his fan club, eating up the attention with his fake, charming smiles, pretty eyes, and sweet words. It all makes Iwaizumi feel sick to his stomach with irritation. He wants to throw something at the boy’s face just to wipe the charming expression away and show his fans what he’s <em>really </em>like.</p><p>Iwaizumi calls Oikawa things like <em>pretty boy</em> and<em> prep-school kid. </em>Oikawa retaliates with <em>street rat</em> and <em>brute. </em></p><p>It is not pretty, Iwaizumi thinks, the way they are around each other. Iwaizumi isn’t even really sure why it is the way it is – but he <em>does </em>know that something about Oikawa grinds his gears and makes him irrationally annoyed. He doesn’t know why he can’t just ignore the boy and pretend like he doesn’t exist, and that in itself frustrates him – there is something about Oikawa that is absolutely magnetizing. All Iwaizumi wants to do is wipe the smug look off his face and to take him down in a dance off.</p><p>Iwaizumi goes to school, takes his lessons, and goes to see his crew afterward. They practice their own group routines, they go to the Grounds for dance battles, and Iwaizumi complains to them about Oikawa on the daily.</p><p>Oikawa goes to school, takes his lessons, revels in the attention of the girls who would do anything for him to spare them a glance or a second thought. He throws around his charming smiles, runs his fingers through his pretty hair, and Iwaizumi could only guess at what he does in his free time.</p><p>They become quick and unfriendly rivals, like a tale straight out of a storybook – the prince and pauper. And that’s that.</p><p>---</p><p>Except – that <em>isn’t </em>just that.</p><p>It is a typical day in their dance class, which means Oikawa and Iwaizumi are arguing about something petty again. The rest of the students have gotten used to it at this point, not even batting an eye at Oikawa’s sharp comments or Iwaizumi’s low insults. However, Ukai is officially Over It.</p><p>“That’s enough!” Ukai snaps, irritation bleeding into his expression. “Take it outside, both of you – and don’t come back until you’re over your little lover’s spat!” He commands, pointing to the door. “Actually, no, just don’t come back today at all.”</p><p>Oikawa looks absolutely <em>stricken</em>, as if he’s never gotten in trouble before in his entire life. He tries to sputter out an excuse, but Ukai isn’t having it. Iwaizumi doesn’t even try to fight the instructor, instead choosing to grab his bag with a huff and stomp his way out of the classroom, Oikawa hot on his heels.</p><p>“See what you’ve done, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hisses, red-faced and clearly angry. “You got us kicked out of class!”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, trying to walk faster to ditch Oikawa. “Oh, let me guess, you’re too much of a teacher’s pet, so this is your first time getting kicked out of class, isn’t it?”</p><p>Oikawa looks affronted. “I guess this is normal for a hooligan such as yourself, isn’t it?” He snaps, huffing with irritation.</p><p>Iwaizumi spins on Oikawa, annoyance finally snapping. “You think you’re God’s gift to Earth because your parents have paid for you to get a dancer’s education since you were able to walk.” Iwaizumi spits out. Something in Oikawa’s gaze shifts and hardens, his shoulders pressing back a little taller. “But you’re not that special, Oikawa. You don’t even know what <em>real</em> dancing is.”</p><p>Iwaizumi knows that he’s being <em>mean, </em>that he shouldn’t doubt someone’s abilities just because of their upbringing. Hell, half of the other students in his class have the same background as Oikawa, and he would never say something so rude to them. But there's something about Oikawa that makes it so he can’t help the angry frustration that claws at his throat. He can’t stand how entitled Oikawa is, how he walks around thinking that he owns everything in his sight just because he has a charming smile and the privilege of a prep school education.</p><p>There is something dangerous glimmering in Oikawa’s eyes. He steps forward, tall and intimidating, and Iwaizumi knows that he is hoping to make Iwaizumi back down. Oikawa has another thing coming, though, because Iwaizumi is a <em>street dancer</em>, and he’s certainly not going to be intimidated by a pretty boy dressed in daddy’s money just because he’s <em>tall. </em></p><p>“Hajime,” Oikawa purrs in a way that makes Iwaizumi’s thoughts stutter for a moment, “There is a lot more about me that you don’t know. One of those things is that I certainly, <em>absolutely</em> know what real dancing is, and it’s certainly not the dancing <em>you </em>do, street rat.”</p><p>Something in Iwaizumi’s blood <em>burns</em>. He steps forward so that he is looking Oikawa dead in the eye. They are standing much closer together than they need to be. He’s certain that any onlooker would assume that they are about to get in a fist fight – and they very well might. “Sounds like a lot of bark and no bite, <em>Shittykawa.</em>” He growls out, reveling in the offended expression Oikawa gives at the nickname. “I’ll show you what real street dancing is.”</p><p>“Oh?” Oikawa quips, crossing his arms and sticking his nose up. “I’ve already seen you dance, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s lips quirk up into a sly, dangerous smile. “You most certainly have <em>not </em>seen me dance.” He taunts, holding the line in front of Oikawa like bait in front of a fish. “But you will. Come to the Grounds with me on Friday.” He pauses, smile peaking up into a taunting smirk. “Unless you’re too chicken to come out into the streets.”</p><p>Oikawa’s gaze is smoldering with the challenge. He smiles, not backing down nor backing away. “Fine.” He responds pointedly.</p><p>Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “Fine.”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>There is a hot, simmering tension between them, neither one wanting to be the one who walks away first. Iwaizumi lets out a frustrated growl but steps back to put some space between them. “Give me your number and I’ll text you a meeting spot.”</p><p>Oikawa’s brows jump up into his hairline, a teasing smile playing with his lips even though there is still anger in his gaze. “Iwa-chan, if you wanted my number, you could have certainly asked for it in a nicer way.”</p><p>Iwaizumi feels a vein pop in his forehead. He reaches forward and whacks Oikawa on the shoulder and tries to will his cheeks not to heat up with an embarrassed blush. “Shut the fuck up, Shittykawa, and give me your phone.”</p><p>Oikawa does as he’s told, though he revels in catching Iwaizumi off guard with his flirting. Iwaizumi puts his number into Oikawa’s phone before tossing it back. Before Oikawa can say anything else, Iwaizumi turns on his heel. “Don’t be late.” He says, stepping away. And then, he quips, with a taunting quirk of his lips, “And try and wear something a little less pastel. The wolves can sniff out fresh meat in an instant, and we wouldn’t want them to eat you alive, would we, pretty boy?”</p><p>He doesn’t miss the flush of Oikawa’s cheeks before he swings around the corner and makes his escape, heart thundering oddly in the cavity of his chest.</p><p>---</p><p>When Friday evening rolls around, Oikawa is already at their preordained meeting place when Iwaizumi shows up. He leans against the brick wall behind him with an air of confidence only a boy who is used to walking into a building and having all of the attention turned onto him can have. Even the <em>wall </em>looks like its leaning forward to wrap itself as close to Oikawa as possible, fighting for the boy’s attention.</p><p>Iwaizumi can’t help the thrill of excitement that thrums through his core – he can’t wait to throw Oikawa into a place where he doesn’t seem to command everything, for once. The Grounds are <em>his </em>territory.</p><p>A simple white V-neck shirt hangs off of the paler boy’s shoulders, obscured slightly by a leather jacket layered over top. This is paired with dark jeans, tight and tastefully ripped at the thighs, and stupidly stylish boots. Iwaizumi is irritated that he managed to put together an outfit that actually seems appropriate for the venue they’re headed to, even if it’s still a bit posh.</p><p>“Well, look at you. You actually own clothes that don’t belong at a golf club.” Iwaizumi says as he approaches, foregoing a proper greeting. Oikawa looks up from his phone in surprise, not having heard Iwaizumi approach. The new angle of his jaw allows the light to filter over his neck, where Iwaizumi is surprised to see a simple black choker pressed against the skin. Iwaizumi is oddly fascinated by this new discovery.</p><p>Oikawa’s gaze scans over Iwaizumi’s dark joggers and simple navy hoodie. Iwaizumi is dressed for easy movement – he knows the Grounds as well as he knows the back of his palm, and he knows a dance challenge can happen at any time. His signature snapback is perched atop his head, backward as usual, dark spikes of hair peeking through the hole at the front. Oikawa gives a prim smile and sticks up his nose. “And you, as usual, look like a street rat.” He chides, pocketing his phone. “Jeez, Iwa-chan, don’t you even own a pair of jeans?”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and, without thinking, reaches forward to tug at a belt loop of Oikawa’s jeans. The sudden pull causes Oikawa to lurch forward in a stumble. “Yeah, and how do you expect to move your body in jeans <em>this </em>tight, pretty boy?”</p><p>His fingers are still hooked through the loop of Oikawa’s jeans and there is a rouge tint upon Oikawa’s high cheek bones. The surprise lingers long enough for Iwaizumi to catch it, but is swiftly replaced by the familiar, smug smile that Oikawa loves to flaunt. His eyes are half-lidded and annoyingly pretty when he says, “Oh, Hajime – you <em>know </em>I can move my body exactly as I need to no matter what I am or am <em>not </em>wearing.”</p><p>It is Iwaizumi’s turn to flush, the use of his given name and Oikawa’s low, teasing voice making Iwaizumi want to shiver. He pushes the taller boy backward gently and turns around with a huff. “Shut up, Shittykawa. Let’s go or we’ll be late, and my crew will have your ass if you’re the reason for it.”</p><p>Oikawa’s tinkling and delighted laughter echoes in the air around them as his long legs easily fall into step beside the street dancer. The Grounds aren’t far, and they don’t make idle chitchat along the way because <em>that’s </em>certainly not Iwaizumi’s style. Oikawa seems content to go along quietly, unlike his usual flair of noisiness he boasts at school. He thinks, idly, that maybe he wouldn’t find Oikawa as irritating if he were this quiet more often.</p><p>They walk a few blocks until they come to a back alleyway that looks deserted. Oikawa glances at Iwaizumi apprehensively, the telltale thought of <em>this wasn’t actually a trap to murder me, was it? </em>in his eyes. Iwaizumi grins, razor-sharp and cocksure as he approaches what looks like a metal door in the side of one of the brick buildings down the alley. He knocks in what Oikawa assumes is some sort of distinctive pattern.</p><p>A long moment passes where nothing happens, and Oikawa is about to pipe up, to say something like, <em>Iwa-chan, did you actually make all of this up? </em>But before he gets the chance to taunt the street dancer, the metal door opens.</p><p>A gruff voice greets Iwaizumi. “Hey there, Haj. Good to see you, my man.”</p><p>Iwaizumi smiles, wide and genuine, with dimples peeking out from his cheeks. Oikawa wasn’t aware of those, and he files that information away in the folder he recently constructed within his brain space labeled <em>Iwa-chan. </em></p><p>“Hey, ‘Zuku. I’ve brought a friend with me tonight – “ He motions for Oikawa to step closer, his hand skimming across Oikawa’s back lightly once he’s in reach. Oikawa licks at his dry lips as he peeks around the doorman to the stairs behind him, the clear flash of colored lights and thrum of music coming into his senses from somewhere down those steps. “He’s new to the scene, but he’s a cool dude.”</p><p>Oikawa hides the disbelief he feels from his expression. He smiles, turning on his charm because he is well aware that these sorts of things are generally internal, invite-only affairs. There is a certain thrill to this, as if he’s doing something dangerous and naughty. “Hi there. I’m Oikawa Tooru - It’s nice to meet you.”</p><p>The man that Iwaizumi addressed as ‘Zuku snorts out a laugh. “Where’d you bag this one, Haj? The backyard barbecue at the Estate? Looks like posh meat to me.”</p><p>Iwaizumi chuckles softly, his hand still on Oikawa’s back. Oikawa suppresses the reflex to squawk indignantly. “Nah, there’s more to him than meets the eye.” Iwaizumi has the gall to <em>wink </em>at Oikawa, who is blushing with embarrassment. He is unsure how much of what Iwaizumi is saying he actually thinks is true, or if he’s just making it up to get them in. “He’s a pretty boy, but he’s not going to run home to daddy and tell on us. <em>And</em>, he can dance.”</p><p>It’s a blatant compliment that Oikawa is already aware is true, but the admittance coming from Iwaizumi presses something soft in Oikawa’s chest. The doorman grins and jerks his head, ushering the two inside.</p><p>Very suddenly, they are hit with the onslaught of music and flashing lights that Oikawa had spied at the entrance. It is dark and the air is heavy with smoke and sweat – and <em>everyone </em>seems to be yelling and talking at once. The floor is concrete but tracked in dirt. The ceiling is oddly tall from what Oikawa would have assumed given the exterior design of the building, and there are multitudes of raised daises and stages scattered throughout the huge length of the room. He spots halls that seem to lead to other rooms and, what he assumes, alternative exits.</p><p>It is, quite literally, the most unpleasant place that Oikawa thinks he’s ever been, but something about it sends goosebumps up his arms. Dancers occupy one of the stages in the far corner, looking as if they are in the middle of a dance off. The bass of the music hits heavy in his chest. He bites at his lip to keep himself from grinning in glee.</p><p>Iwaizumi’s fingers wrap around his elbow, warm even through the fabric of his jacket. He pushes in close so that Oikawa will be able to hear him when he speaks, nose nudging Oikawa’s ear. “C’mon, let’s go find the crew.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s grip on Oikawa’s elbow remains, directing him through the throng of people. Oikawa feels a rush of excitement as his gaze takes in the other people around him, many dressed similarly to Iwaizumi, loose clothing hugging bodies to enable breathing and moving room. Lots of snapbacks. A wide array of piercings. People in very little clothes; people in a stockpile of clothes. Many heads of dyed hair.</p><p>It is exhilarating.</p><p>Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa to a stop once they reach a secluded corner of the giant room, and then suddenly Iwaizumi is being tugged away, leaving Oikawa by himself.</p><p>A tall man with a nest of bed-head hair has Iwaizumi in a chokehold. His snapback falls off of his head and onto the ground, and the tall man wastes no time in burying his fingers in Iwaizumi’s hair to ruffle it. Iwaizumi struggles in the man’s hold, but he is laughing. “Kuroo! Let me go, asshole!”</p><p>“Iwaizumi!” A small bundle of orange zips into view, leaping at Iwaizumi and grabbing hold of his shoulders. The short boy jumps up and down with a wide, sunshine smile as another, slightly shorter boy with a dyed streak in his hair jumps on Iwaizumi from the back.</p><p>“We thought you weren’t going to show, man!”</p><p>There is an entire squad of people mingling around watching the exchange. Oikawa assumes they are all a part of Iwaizumi’s crew. An odd bloom of affection unfurls in his chest. Iwaizumi manages to shove the tall, bed-head-haired man – Kuroo – off of him and swipes his hat up off the ground, dusting it off and swinging it back onto his head. He shakes the shorter boys off with a grin.</p><p>“Like I wouldn’t show up.” He taunts, gaze cutting back to Oikawa. “I brought a friend. He’s here to observe what real dancers look like.”</p><p>Oikawa crosses his arms and gives Iwaizumi a pointed, stiff look. “You sure? Doesn’t look like I see any real dancers anywhere.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow into a glare, but before he can retaliate, there is yet another short boy who pops up from behind Iwaizumi. He has a tuft of light hair and a sharp gaze. “Watch your mouth, pretty boy. You’re a guest here.”</p><p>He is intimidating for such a small size – much more so than the bundle of sunshine and dyed-hair-boy. Iwaizumi places his hands on the boy’s shoulders and pulls him backward. “Down, Yaku. Oikawa will learn his lesson, don’t worry.”</p><p>Something about those words makes goosebumps rise on Oikawa’s arms. He ignores the weird twist in his belly when Iwaizumi shoots him a sharp grin. The street dancer moves so he is again standing next to Oikawa. “Okay, here. I’ll introduce you.”</p><p>Even though Iwaizumi has brought Oikawa here out of a prideful challenge, he seems genuinely interested in having Oikawa meet his friends. Oikawa does his best to listen attentively over the bass of the music in his ears.</p><p>“Bed-head, lazy grin here is Kuroo Tetsurou. He’s a sarcastic trickster.” Kuroo flips Iwaizumi off. Iwaizumi just grins in return. “Summer sunshine is Hinata Shoyo, and no, he literally <em>never </em>runs out of energy – neither does Nishinoya – you can just call him Noya – he’s the one with the blonde streak in his hair. The actually scary short one – “ Iwaizumi is cut off by said ‘short one’ throwing a punch at his arm from the insult, to which Iwaizumi dodges with a grin. “- is Yaku. He <em>will </em>cut you. He doesn’t come to play.”</p><p>He points to a smaller group leaning against the wall in conversation behind them. “The tall guy with the bushy eyebrows is Mattsukawa, or Mattsun. He’s chill, very laid back. The bald one is Tanaka – don’t be alarmed if he rips off his shirt when he dances. That’s sort of his thing.” At this, Oikawa snorts out a laugh. “And the guy who looks like he belongs in the military because he’s so ripped is Daichi. We call him Dad-chi behind his back because he’s basically the group’s dad.”</p><p>There are a lot of names and faces that Oikawa is certain he will likely not remember all of. He scans the group again, gaze catching on a blonde giving him an angry glare. Iwaizumi follows his gaze and says, “That’s Semi – don’t mind him, he can be moody at times.”</p><p>“Iwaizumi!” This time, the exclamation comes from feminine voice, which catches Oikawa off guard. A petite girl with cropped blonde hair smiles up at them. “Is this the guy you were telling us about from school?”</p><p>Oikawa is <em>immediately </em>interested in this question. He grins, slow and sly, and bumps his shoulder into Iwaizumi’s teasingly, reveling in the way Iwaizumi’s cheeks blush lightly. “Iwa-chan! You’ve told your friends about me? How <em>cute!” </em></p><p>Iwaizumi shoves Oikawa in the shoulder. Oikawa lets out a tinkling laugh in return. “Yeah, I’ve told them how much of a pain in my <em>ass</em> you are, Shittykawa.” He growls out. Then, after a moment, “This is Yachi. Don’t underestimate her. She’ll kick your ass.”</p><p>Oikawa smiles down at the kind-looking girl and places a hand over his chest dramatically. “I have no doubt!”</p><p>Yachi looks as if she’s about to say something when a tall, buff man with the craziest hair Oikawa has ever seen runs up behind her and grabs her by the waist, tossing her into the air and swirling her around. “Yachi!!!” He exclaims with so much excitement, it warrants multiple exclamation points. “My favorite bento-box supplier!”</p><p>Iwaizumi smiles softly at the interruption. He glances over at Oikawa and says, “Yachi makes us lunch a lot. She’s like our little sister. And the loud one with the hair is Bokuto.”</p><p>“They’re <em>all </em>loud.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Like <em>you’re </em>one to talk.”</p><p>Oikawa makes a scandalous, dramatic expression and gives a wonderful fake performance of offense. “Excuse <em>me, </em>Iwa-chan, I am not <em>loud. </em>I have a lovely, soft, and compelling voice.”</p><p>Suddenly, there is a loud boom over the speakers, and then the music cuts off. Oikawa looks around in confusion. Iwaizumi leans in close so that Oikawa can hear him over the speaker. “Dance off.” He murmurs, which spikes Oikawa’s heart rate from excitement, though he’d be caught dead before he admits it.</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey, my favorite dancers!” The announcer says, all enthusiasm. “It’s your favorite announcer and DJ, Present Mic!” The crowd cheers – Iwaizumi gives a holler next to him, his voice deep and loud, ringing in Oikawa’s ears. “And we have a dance off challenge that has been issued, my friends!”</p><p>The crowd absolutely <em>screams</em>. Oikawa can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, the energy addicting. Present Mic continues, “One of our newest groups – The Crows – has issued a challenge to the one and only, Aoba Johsai!”</p><p>The noise that erupts around him is <em>deafening</em>. Kuroo leaps forward and throws an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders. Hinata and Noya jump up and down, <em>screaming</em>. The rest of Iwaizumi’s crew hollers and whistles, clapping and stepping forward out of the shadows, intimidating and <em>commanding</em>. It hits Oikawa that this ‘Aoba Johsai’ – that must be Iwaizumi’s crew.</p><p>Iwaizumi is thrumming with delight. The grin he shoots Oikawa is heart-stopping in its arrogance. Oikawa wishes he didn’t think it such a pretty smile.</p><p>“Aoba Johsai!” Present Mic says through the speakers. “Do you accept?”</p><p>The yelling intensifies. A unanimous shout of <em>hell yes! </em>rumbles from the crew and they start moving forward through the throng of people. Oikawa has the good sense to grab onto Iwaizumi’s jacket so he doesn’t lose him, though he’s not sure what <em>he’s </em>going to do, since he’s not a part of this crew.</p><p>They approach one of the stages and climb the stairs. Iwaizumi manually moves Oikawa so he’s standing in a safe place at the edge of the stage and says, “Stay here. And get ready to <em>learn.</em>” He taunts with a wink.</p><p>Oikawa rolls his eyes with a huff. “Don’t disappoint me, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>As soon as they are on the stage, the speakers blare with a loud, thunderous beat. The song is heavy on the bass, deep and cutting to the bone. Oikawa watches as the opposing crew, The Crows, takes a formation on the other end of the stage. And then, without any further preamble, they step forward and begin dancing.</p><p>The Crows sweep the floor with their bodies. They slide on their knees and then pop back up, swinging around each other. They move in formation with a couple of their members stepping forward and performing some sort of break-dancing duet, pulling their bodies into handstands and maneuvering around each other.</p><p>There is a brief break when the opposing crew’s duo backs up, the rest of their team preparing for some sort of group number, but Iwaizumi’s crew jumps in at the opportunity without missing a beat. The boy that Oikawa recalls Iwaizumi introducing as Noya is the first to take the front of the stage. He jumps and spins on his feet lightly, throwing himself up into some sort of twisted handstand at the same time that Hinata and Yaku join – a small but might force to be reckoned with. Hinata and Yaku clasp hands, forming some sort of shape that Noya twists his body through, and then suddenly they are all jumping up onto their feet to the bass of the music, falling into an obviously practiced routine.</p><p>Behind them, Bokuto and Kuroo are doing some sort of jig where their feet seem to be <em>flying</em>, grins on their faces as Yachi jumps in between them. They grab her by the arms and swing her up so that she skims on her knees toward the front where Hinata, Yaku, and Noya are still in sync. She pops up into a handstand and then drops down to spin into a break-dance. Hinata is quick to jump in so that they are twisting in some sort of tandem break-dancing duo.</p><p>The members at the front then suddenly jump up and backward, and then Daichi, Tanaka, and Semi take their place. They move in a synchronized shift of bodies before Bokuto and Kuroo join the line. Then, they are all coordinating and bending over, pressing their hands to the floor. Yachi flips onto one of their backs before running down the line and doing a flip once she reaches the final person. As the others begin to stand back up one by one, Matsukawa and Iwaizumi flip over them, both landing in handstands that they roll out of and onto their feet, taking the center stage.</p><p>Iwaizumi Hajime. He moves his body without any reservations, different than what Oikawa has observed in class. In class, Iwaizumi follows the lessons with ease, but is stiff. There is a part of him that he holds back. From the way he dips low and flips into a handstand, hoodie falling down to his shoulders before he twists up and over, landing down in an easy squat and then twisting his hips back up again, Oikawa can understand why.</p><p>Iwaizumi is, as much as Oikawa doesn’t want to admit it, really, <em>really </em>hot.</p><p>He is the kind of attractive that Oikawa is not. Where Oikawa is soft and fluid, beautiful grace and flirtatious charm, Iwaizumi is solid confidence, hard, cut lines of muscle and boyish, rogue magnetism. He is down and dirty, dark and mysterious, wants to keep himself to the ones he trusts, and doesn’t care about the rest.</p><p>Except, it seems, that he does care, in some sense, about what Oikawa thinks, or else they wouldn’t be here right now. The thought makes something hot drip into Oikawa’s belly as he watches the way Iwaizumi moves his body with the rest of his crew.</p><p>Iwaizumi is showing off. Oikawa <em>knows </em>he is. Even so, he can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat as he watches. The entire crew moves in such a different way than Oikawa’s classically-trained brain recognizes – the best descriptor Oikawa can think of is <em>dirty. </em>It goes from downright filthy grinding to captivating, controlled flicks of movement, feet shifting and stomping in a commanding manner that makes Oikawa’s heart pound.</p><p>Dirty and <em>beautiful.</em></p><p>The challenging crew watches with narrowed eyes, waiting for an opportunity to jump in and take over the dance off, but Oikawa thinks that it would be a waste of energy – there is no way they could best Iwaizumi’s group.</p><p>The crowd is <em>screaming, </em>which makes Oikawa feel as if this is a fan-favorite part. Matsukawa is taller than Iwaizumi, lankier and a bit more languid in the places Iwaizumi is aggressive. A sloppy grin adorns his face as he rolls and snaps his body in tandem with Iwaizumi’s. This must be a part of their normal routine because they move smoothly together, comfortable in their choreography, feet tapping fast and bodies rolling with ease. Oikawa feels tingles in his belly, watching Iwaizumi tilt his head back against the taller man’s shoulder with a lazy smirk, and suddenly feels hot all over when Iwaizumi’s gaze tilts over to Oikawa’s.</p><p>The lazy smirk broadens into something more rogue and challenging. Oikawa watches with the entirety of his attention span as Iwaizumi removes himself from whatever routine he was working with Mattsun on and saunters over to the side of the stage where Oikawa stands, body rolling with the beat of the music. He jumps every time the bass drops, the movement making it look as if Iwaizumi’s body is making the stage reverberate with the sound. Very suddenly, Iwaizumi is on Oikawa, close enough for the dancer to see the sheen of sweat on his skin and feel the heat of his body.</p><p>This is a challenge. Oikawa is very aware of what’s happening. It’s a dance off, and Oikawa is the new opponent. Iwaizumi thinks that Oikawa will keep his place because he is the newcomer here, because he’s not a part of this crew, because this is not <em>his </em>stomping ground.</p><p>Iwaizumi has a lot to learn about Oikawa.</p><p>Oikawa grins, slow and sharp, gaze locked on Iwaizumi’s. There is a moment where Iwaizumi rolls his body forward in a taunting manner, and Oikawa takes that as his opportunity. He reaches forward and grabs Iwaizumi’s shoulder, pressing close so their bodies are nearly synced together. The surprise on Iwaizumi’s face is apparent as Oikawa seamlessly lets the beat of the foreign song guide his movements.</p><p>He is not a street dancer, but he has always been particularly good at picking up new styles quickly. He has seen enough to move his body in some of the ways that Iwaizumi and his crew can. For this, he is grateful, because he’s going to need to look as if he belongs for what he is about to do.</p><p>He gives Iwaizumi a shit-eating grin, leans close to his ear. “You’re good, Hajime.” He speaks loudly over the music. “But you should know better than to challenge me.”</p><p>With that, he spins quickly and steps forward so that he is closer to the center stage. The rest of Iwaizumi’s crew is still working through their choreography, though a couple heads turn his way. The tiny boy with the bright orange hair, Hinata, is doing some sort of <em>crazy </em>(cool) break-dancing maneuver, accompanied by Yachi again. Oikawa moves his body so that his integration into their piece appears seamless, though he does vaguely wish he had worn something other than jeans for this – something he will never admit to Iwaizumi after their earlier conversation.</p><p>“What are you <em>doing?” </em>Iwaizumi shouts, still dancing, but Oikawa knows that he has caught the street dancer by surprise. Oikawa shoots him a wink and spins his body tightly, dipping low and then side-stepping until he is able to join the tall man known as Mattsun on the stage.</p><p>“Hello there, Mattsun. I’m going to join you.” Oikawa greets, slightly breathless. The man’s bushy eyebrows rise up into his hairline. He glances from Oikawa to Iwaizumi, the street dancer approaching quickly.</p><p>Matsukawa grins broadly, full of mischief. “Oh, yes. I like you.” He says, plain and straightforward. Oikawa laughs genuinely as he turns around and tries to copy the moves he had watched Iwaizumi perform with the man earlier. If Matsukawa is impressed that Oikawa has managed to pick up the routine in some manner in such a short period of time, he doesn’t say so. Instead, he takes it in stride, rolling his body against Oikawa’s, dipping and twisting, stomping his feet with the bass as if this were a completely normal and planned change in routine. Oikawa thinks his ability to work under this kind of change is impressive.</p><p>Oikawa’s movements are more reserved than Iwaizumi’s had been by the nature of his training. He knows that he does not fit the design of the rest of the crew like Iwaizumi does. However, there is something absolutely thrilling about being on the stage with this group.</p><p>He feels <em>invincible. </em>Iwaizumi’s gaze is on him, hot and heavy and attentive. Oikawa grins something slow and sultry as he tips his head back against Matsukawa’s shoulder – he does not fit in the same way that Iwaizumi did because of the height difference, but it doesn’t really matter right now. Iwaizumi’s expression is unreadable, but his movements are flawless. Oikawa is jealous that the boy is able to keep his composure so well.</p><p>As if to match Oikawa’s new challenge, Iwaizumi steps forward until his body is once against so close to Oikawa that he can feel the heat radiate from his body. Oikawa suddenly finds himself sandwiched between Matsukawa and Iwaizumi, and <em>Jesus fuck, is it hot in here or what?</em></p><p>He knows his skin must be radiantly flushed. Iwaizumi grins, all hot boyish charm that makes Oikawa want to stomp his foot in petulant annoyance. Iwaizumi nods at Matsukawa in some sort of nonverbal conversation that is lost to Oikawa.</p><p>Suddenly, the crowd is <em>absolutely losing its mind</em> because Oikawa is being <em>lifted into the air</em> – which is not a foreign experience to Oikawa, but he’s usually <em>prepared for it</em> when it happens. He knows that his expression conveys his surprise when he is hoisted up into Iwaizumi’s arms. He is vaguely aware of Matsukawa’s hands on his back, but they disappear as soon as Iwaizumi has him secure. His legs clench around Iwaizumi’s waist out of instinct, his hands gripping at broad shoulders, and <em>holy hell, he is actually carrying me and dancing as if I weight nothing.</em></p><p>There is hot tension in the air and in the coils of Oikawa’s stomach. He has been inexplicably thrown off his groove and clings to Iwaizumi, completely at his mercy. He is suddenly turned so that he is staring up at the ceiling, his back hitting the floor and <em>Iwaizumi is on top of him. </em></p><p>“<em>What are you – “ </em>Oikawa tries to ask, but his voice is too high of an octave to be heard. Iwaizumi’s body rolls pristinely to the beat of the music, a dead giveaway that this is <em>not </em>the first time Iwaizumi has done… <em>this. </em></p><p>Oikawa, enraptured by the haughty expression of Iwaizumi’s face, by the way his body moves, forgets, momentarily, that they are on a stage full of <em>other </em>dancers in front of <em>hundreds of people. </em>He stares up at Iwaizumi with wide open expression, lips parted and pupils dilated, high off of his surroundings and the sultry moves of Iwaizumi’s body.</p><p>But just as soon as the surprise attack begins, it is ending. Oikawa is lifted and placed back on his feet <em>somehow</em>, where he stands sort of shocked, while the other dancers are jumping up and down, screaming with excitement and feeding off of the cheers of the crowd. The challenging team slumps back into the shadows with annoyed eyes and rude gestures, which Oikawa assumes is all part of the game, here.</p><p>Oikawa is swept up in the excitement, feeling as if he’s in a daze. The announcer comes back over the booming speakers, saying something about how Iwaizumi’s crew swept the floor with the opposing crew <em>and </em>their own, a clear call out of the move Iwaizumi made to lay Oikawa down. The crew is ushered off the stage, gathering loudly in a secluded corner.</p><p>Iwaizumi holds on to Oikawa’s elbow the entire time they’re moving, ensuring he is not lost in the crowd. It isn’t until they are safe in the circle of the crew, sweaty and exhausted, that Iwaizumi turns to him, sharp-toothed grin on his lips. Oikawa is stricken by how attractive he looks.</p><p>“You sure took me by surprise there, Oikawa.”</p><p>Oikawa is flushed and his heart is still racing. He feels as if he has just stepped out of a very realistic yet surreal dream. He has a lot of questions, but instead of asking them, he says, “You should have known better than to issue me a challenge, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s wide grin softens a bit, dimples clear on his cheeks. Oikawa likes being the one to see those dimples. The street dancer opens his mouth to say something but is cut off before he can begin.</p><p>“What the <em>fuck, </em>Iwaizumi?”</p><p>Suddenly, there is a young man standing before them, hands on his hips and irritation apparent on his flushed face. Oikawa does not remember his name from Iwaizumi's introductions. He has soft, ash-blonde hair, parted down the middle to frame his sharp eyes. His jaw is sharp, shoulders broad. Oikawa can’t tell if he’s high school or University student age. “Who do you think you are, bringing some rando prep-school boy onto the stage to <em>dance</em>? He’s not part of the crew!”</p><p>Oikawa is offended at once. “I didn’t realize that dancing was an exclusive thing instead of a natural human behavior.” He snaps without thinking, irritation bringing out the worst of his attitude.</p><p>The boy turns his gaze from Iwaizumi to Oikawa, his anger flaring from Oikawa’s attitude. Iwaizumi steps between them, hands up in a gesture of peace. “Woah, Semi. I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t intentional. It just sort of happened.”</p><p><em>Ah, </em>Oikawa thinks, <em>Semi, the moody one.</em></p><p>Kuroo steps from behind Semi. “Hey, yeah – no harm, no foul, right, man?” His words are lazy and relaxed, like the rest of his demeanor. Oikawa remembers watching him dance, cat-like and fluid, seductive and yet somehow coy. It fits him. “Pretty Boy here seemed to bring some heat. The crowd loved him.” Then, with a lazy, dirty grin, he adds, “Seems like Iwaizumi did, too.”</p><p>Oikawa flushes from the compliment. Beside him, Iwaizumi growls and goes to punch the man in the shoulder, but he laughs and dodges the action easily. “Shut <em>up, </em>Kuroo.”</p><p>The angry blonde, Semi, isn’t pacified. “I don’t care <em>who </em>loves him. People can’t just dance with the crew without everyone’s approval, Hajime. That’s why we’re a <em>crew. </em>We do things <em>together.</em>”</p><p>Oikawa can appreciate that logic, but he still doesn’t understand the hostility. He wants to speak up, to apologize, because he suddenly feels like he’s gotten Iwaizumi in trouble, but before he can do so, a loud alarm sounds from the speakers. Oikawa jumps on instinct, turning swiftly in a panic, but Iwaizumi’s grip on his bicep pulls his attention.</p><p>“Someone narced. C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here.”</p><p>He tugs at Oikawa’s arm and Oikawa follows with little resistance. They are suddenly sprinting through a crowd of people who are also zigging and zagging towards secret exits that Oikawa wouldn’t even know how to find. They rush down a dark, dirty hallway and take a couple turns until they reach a metal stairway that leads up into the outside world. Iwaizumi pushes the metal door open and drags Oikawa out after him.</p><p>They don’t stop running until Iwaizumi thinks they have put enough distance between themselves and the Grounds. Oikawa’s heart is pounding in the cavity of his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins so strongly that he’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep tonight at all. Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa into a secluded alcove, panting as he leans back against a brick wall.</p><p>Oikawa is pressed close to Iwaizumi, his arm still in the street dancer’s grasp, and suddenly, without warning, his adrenaline bubbles out from within his chest as a hysterical giggle.</p><p>Iwaizumi’s eyes peel open from where his head is leaning back against the wall, trying to catch his breath, staring at Oikawa with amusement in his expression. Oikawa’s giggle culminates into a fit of laughter that he can’t control until he is forced to lean forward, resting his head against Iwaizumi’s shoulder as he clutches at his stomach.</p><p>Iwaizumi’s shoulders shake with a quieter mirth. His arm dips down from Oikawa’s arm to wrap around his back. Oikawa feels some kind of undetermined way about the series of events that have transpired in the last hour.</p><p>After a moment, their laughter dies down, followed by an oddly comfortable silence. They catch their breath, and then Oikawa straightens, lifting his head from Iwaizumi’s shoulder so that he can read Iwaizumi’s expression when he asks, “Does this happen often?”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s brows raise. “Does <em>what </em>happen often?”</p><p>“This – “ Oikawa waves a hand flippantly. “The whole, bringing strangers to your secret dance lair and challenging them to impromptu dance offs that then get shut down by the cops.”</p><p>There is a quirk to Iwaizumi’s lips as Oikawa finishes speaking. With a roll of his eyes, he responds with, “What about any of my crew’s reactions gave you the indication that this is something that happens often?”</p><p>He has a point. Oikawa thinks of the anger on Semi’s face, the teasing lilt of Kuroo’s taunts. He thinks of Yachi's excitement that Iwaizumi had brought a newcomer by. He swallows the weird giddiness that rises in his throat. “I don’t know, that Mattsun guy seemed pretty unperturbed that some random stranger was suddenly trying to dance with him.”</p><p>He is teasing, but something flashes in Iwaizumi’s eyes. Mild irritation. <em>Jealousy, </em>Oikawa realizes, because he knows the feeling. “Oh, shut up, Shittykawa. Mattsun will dance with anything that moves. He’s just like Makki. They’d probably get along swimmingly, actually.”</p><p>Oikawa smiles, all teeth. “Maybe we should bring him along next time.”</p><p>At that, Iwaizumi seems to realize the position that they’re still in, seems to realize how tense the air between them is, charged with electricity. He reaches up, fingers sliding beneath the stretchy choker at Oikawa’s neck. The taller boy takes a sharp inhale of breath that Iwaizumi secretly enjoys pulling out of him, and Iwaizumi pulls the band back, so it gently snaps Oikawa’s skin. The other boy squawks and jumps at the action, which Iwaizumi uses as a good time to scoot out from between Oikawa and the wall. His cheeks are flushed when he asks, “What makes you think that there’s going to be a <em>next time? </em>You were nothing but a huge pain in my ass in there.<em>”</em></p><p><em>You’re lying, Iwa-chan, </em>Oikawa thinks, a strange sort of fondness creeping into his bones. He smiles coyly. “Oh, c’mon Iwa-chan! You can’t let me experience <em>that </em>and then really expect me to not want to go back, can you?”</p><p>Iwaizumi snorts. “What does that even mean?”</p><p>Oikawa runs his fingers through the sweaty locks that are sticking to his forehead. He desperately needs to shower. He leans forward and tilts his head, playing cute. “Hajime, you <em>never </em>dance like that at school.” He flirts.</p><p>Iwaizumi sputters. “Of course I don’t!” He exclaims, a pretty pink tinge dusting its way down his neck. “It’s – Y’know.”</p><p>Oikawa grins, sharp-toothed and giddy. “It’s what, Iwa-chan?” He teases. “<em>Inappropriate?”</em></p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>Oikawa barks out a laugh at Iwaizumi’s blatant admission. His heart flutters in his chest. He’s not exactly sure what’s happening here, but he likes it. “<em>That’s </em>why you have to bring me back.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s flush darkens, much to Oikawa’s delight. The street dancer huffs and turns on his heel, obviously done with Oikawa’s flirtations. “Oh, shut up, asshole.” He mutters as he begins stalking off. Oikawa follows him with ease. After a moment, Iwaizumi says, “You’ll have to earn it.”</p><p>Iwaizumi shoots Oikawa a sharp grin over his shoulder. Oikawa flushes and bites back the smile that threatens to spill over onto his lips.</p><p>
  <em>Challenge accepted, Iwa-chan.</em>
</p><p>---</p><p>Things are different the Monday after Iwaizumi takes Oikawa to the Grounds. The air between the two is charged with something other than jealous contempt, now. The rivalry simmers with a healthy dose of respect and a palpable tension.</p><p>Oikawa can’t keep himself from fidgeting. He is restless, sitting next to Kenma in their dance class, waiting for Ukai to arrive. He keeps glancing over at Iwaizumi, trying to find some silly excuse to interact with him.</p><p>Kenma’s hair curtains his face as he stares down at the screen of his cell phone. “Oikawa, can’t you be still? You’re giving me anxiety just being close to you.”</p><p>Oikawa does his best to still his ticking leg. He swallows and offers the blonde an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Ken-chan.” He says. “Just really rearing to get going today, I guess.”</p><p>Kenma looks up from his phone and stares at Oikawa with a bland, uninterested expression. “Something happened between you and Iwaizumi.”</p><p>Oikawa flushes, cursing Kenma’s intuitive observation skills. “<em>What?</em>” He blurts. “That’s silly, Ken-chan. What makes you think that?” He questions. “You’re <em>wrong, </em>by the way.”</p><p>The corner of Kenma’s lips quirks up. “Your denial is a dead confirmation. You’re a terrible liar.” He says, factual. “Also, you won’t stop looking at him. And you two haven’t gotten into an argument yet even though you’ve been in the same room for a full three minutes.”</p><p>Oikawa is slightly irritated by Kenma’s deductions. He turns his head away primly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kenma. I’m always perfectly agreeable. If we tend to argue, that has everything to do with Iwa-chan’s brutish personality.”</p><p>He says it loud enough to get Iwaizumi’s attention and it works. He kind of hates himself for resorting to such measures. Oikawa doesn’t <em>vie </em>for the attention of <em>others.</em> Iwaizumi turns a narrowed gaze toward Oikawa. “What was that, pretty boy?”</p><p>Oikawa’s lips curl into a teasing smile that he can’t seem to control. He shrugs in a fake show of nonchalance. “Oh, you know, Iwa-chan, just stating the facts of how primitive your dancing style is. It’s a real good match for your personality.”</p><p>Iwaizumi growls. “Oh, I’ll <em>show </em>you primitive, you little –“</p><p>“Oookayyy, not that I don’t love some good public displays of affection, but if you two could turn the sexual tension off for a bit, it would be <em>much </em>appreciated.”</p><p>Hanamaki drops his bag in the space next to Oikawa that is currently unoccupied, giving both Iwaizumi and Oikawa a pointed look. His pink hair is freshly dyed, and his expression is one of pure amusement.</p><p>Iwaizumi and Oikawa both flush, turning away from each other in a huff. They pointedly try to ignore each other for the rest of the class and do a poor job of it.</p><p>---</p><p>Their dynamic shifts as the semester continues. Where they used to be purposefully mean, trying to dig into each other’s greatest insecurities, the jaunts become lighter, more tease and less aggression. The class notices. Ukai notices. The rest of the school notices.</p><p>It is not a bad thing. In fact, Iwaizumi begins to look forward to his Contemporary Dance class. He starts looking forward to Oikawa’s challenging, glimmering eyes, and sharp, witty tongue. His eyes linger on Oikawa when he practices, but not to look for flaws to point out – instead, to simply admire.</p><p>He’s doing it now – watching Oikawa practice a particularly difficult piece with Akaashi. Ukai is trying to make them dance in ways that they are unaccustomed. For Oikawa and Akaashi, both more fluid in the theatrical Jazz and sensual Flamenco pieces, it is Hip-Hop.</p><p>Suga bumps his hip against Iwaizumi’s. “Hip-Hop is more your style.” He says conversationally. “Does it make you feel some sort of way to see Oikawa dancing like that?”</p><p>Iwaizumi tears his gaze away from Oikawa and looks at Suga incredulously. “What? No, of course not. Oikawa can do whatever he wants.” He mutters.</p><p>Suga laughs lightly, the sound pleasant. Suga is very kind; Iwaizumi likes him a lot. “No, no, I meant – do you <em>like </em>seeing Oikawa dance like you?”</p><p>Iwaizumi feels his cheeks heat up with a blush. “Of course not!” He snaps, too quick. “Why would I <em>like </em>that?”</p><p>Suga grins, sharp and mischievously. He shrugs in a fake air of nonchalance. “I don’t know, it just seems like you two are getting along better these days. You’re always staring at him.” He pauses, and then continues with, “He’s always staring at <em>you.”</em></p><p>Iwaizumi turns away and takes a long swing of water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He denies, willing the heat of his cheeks to go away.</p><p>Suga laughs again and punches Iwaizumi in the shoulder lightly. “It’s okay, Iwaizumi,” He begins with a tone of voice that means Iwaizumi <em>knows </em>he is about to regret what Suga says, “There’s no shame in thinking Oikawa is attractive. We <em>all </em>have eyes.”</p><p>Iwaizumi <em>does </em>regret what Suga says, but he certainly <em>does not </em>regret pouring the rest of his water over Suga’s pretty head of hair. Suga’s exclamation and soaked shirt gets them both kicked out of the room to go dry off, but it is <em>worth it. </em></p><p>(And Iwaizumi doesn’t miss Oikawa’s trailing gaze as he leaves.)</p><p>---</p><p>Because they no longer seem to be trying to find ways to destroy each other, Ukai begins pairing Oikawa and Iwaizumi up for some of their lessons.</p><p>“Okay,” Ukai says, the first time he decides to put them together, “I want you two to work together and practice this foot work.” He pauses, giving them both a pointed look. “<em>Don’t </em>make me regret this.”</p><p>He leaves them to it with a vow that he’ll come back to check on them after he does his rounds. Oikawa glances at Iwaizumi and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. An awkward silence falls between them.</p><p>Iwaizumi clears his throat. “Okay, so – “</p><p>“Right, so – “</p><p>They both stop, mid-sentence. A hot flush works its way up Iwaizumi’s neck, and he does not miss the way roses blossom on Oikawa’s cheeks as well. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and then starts again. “Well, you’re taller,” He swallows his pride, “And you’re more practiced at this sort of dance. So you should lead.”</p><p>Oikawa blinks at Iwaizumi, clearly surprised that Iwaizumi would give up that control. “Oh,” He says, voice oddly soft. “Okay, sure.”</p><p>It is some sort of ballroom dance footwork that Ukai is having them work on today, and if he’s honest, Iwaizumi really is totally uninterested in it. Oikawa holds out a hand for Iwaizumi, who places his own in Oikawa’s palm. Oikawa’s skin is soft and warm, and it makes Iwaizumi’s fingers twitch. Oikawa steps closer so that he can place a hand on Iwaizumi’s waist. Iwaizumi lifts his free hand to Oikawa’s shoulder.</p><p>The air between them is electric, hot and damp. To avoid staring up at Oikawa’s stupidly pretty face, Iwaizumi focuses his gaze at their feet. Oikawa counts down from three, and then they step.</p><p>Iwaizumi does his best to fall into the step, but it’s so <em>slow </em>and controlled, which is not what he’s used to. He bumps into Oikawa’s leg, almost stepping on his foot, and Oikawa brings them to a stop. Iwaizumi offers him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, let’s try again.”</p><p>Oikawa is quiet for a moment before speaking. “Iwa-chan, I promise you this will go better if you don’t stare at the ground.”</p><p>Iwaizumi looks up at Oikawa on instinct of being called out. Oikawa is not <em>that </em>much taller than Iwaizumi, so when he raises his gaze, their faces are very close. Oikawa’s skin is still tinted pink. There is a tiny scattering of freckles across his nose, barely noticeable. There are flecks of gold in his warm, brown eyes.</p><p>It’s very, very <em>warm</em> in the space between them.</p><p>“I – “ Iwaizumi tries to think of an excuse that isn’t <em>I really don’t want to stare at your face because I’m mad about how pretty it is. </em>He can’t come up with one. “Right, okay. Let’s try again.”</p><p>Oikawa offers him a small, reassuring smile before counting down again. When they begin to step the second time, Iwaizumi does his best to keep from looking down.</p><p>Frustratingly, Oikawa was correct. It goes much smoother without Iwaizumi staring at their feet – he assumes this is because they are able to move more naturally, to keep their form in other places. Oikawa’s palm is warm in his. Iwaizumi is not entirely sure why there is an unfamiliar flutter in his stomach.</p><p>After a few successful rounds, Oikawa grins. “I’m going to spin you, Iwa-chan.” And that’s the only warning he gives before he pauses in the step and extends his arm. Iwaizumi falls into the change easy, being used to shifts in choreography from his work with the crew. Oikawa presses his chest against Iwaizumi’s back and directs a few more steps before spinning Iwaizumi back into their original formation.</p><p>Iwaizumi can’t help the laugh that bubbles in his throat as Oikawa begins to lead them off the strait-laced track that Ukai had wanted them to practice. He takes Iwaizumi’s other hand from his shoulder and, suddenly, they are switching their foot work into something a bit more fluid, like Swing.</p><p>“Not too bad for a street rat.” Oikawa teases good-natured, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Maybe you could be tamed after all.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and puts his own twist on some of their movements, taking the lead from Oikawa momentarily. “You certainly can try, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” He quips back without missing a beat.</p><p>After a few more moments of fooling around, they end up twisting into the mirrored wall next to them. Iwaizumi’s fingers slip from Oikawa’s grasp and he finds himself grinning, all teeth and elation, while Oikawa falls into a fit of giggles at his side.</p><p>It takes them a minute to come back to the room their in to realize that it is eerily silent. Iwaizumi turns his gaze from Oikawa and sees everybody else in the room <em>staring. </em></p><p>Oikawa seems to realize this at the same time because he stands up straight next to Iwaizumi, regaining his composure. A thick, heavy awkwardness falls across the room.</p><p>Hanamaki, bless his soul, decides to break it with a low, teasing jibe of, “<em>PDA!” </em></p><p>Ukai whacks the boy upside the head with his clipboard and the tension in the room dissipates almost immediately.</p><p>Iwaizumi and Oikawa pointedly keep their distance from each other for the remainder of the class.</p><p>---</p><p>It’s a Wednesday and Iwaizumi is exhausted. The day seemed to drag on without any end in sight and he is looking forward to going home and taking a hot shower. He hikes his bag over his shoulder and runs his hands through his hair. He is supposed to practice a new routine with the crew later tonight, but he’s not sure if he has the energy to do anything other than fall face-first into his bed after he showers and sleep for twelve straight hours.</p><p>He takes the stairs two at a time toward the exit. When he reaches the bottom floor to leave, the sound of a piano distracts him temporarily. The tune sounds familiar, but he can’t quite place the song. Someone sings alongside the soft keynotes, voice lofty and captivating. Iwaizumi thinks, not for the first time, that everyone at this school is absurdly talented. He’s waiting for them to realize that he doesn’t belong even more than what is already obvious.</p><p>He steps toward the sound. It’s coming from a recital room down the hall. He wonders if it’s a student he knows. The door to the room is slightly propped open, letting a draft into the room. The first-floor recital rooms tend to be the warmest, for whatever reason.</p><p>Peeking in, he catches a glimpse of a tall boy sitting at the piano bench, pale, slender fingers working the keys like magic. His hair falls softly over his forehead as he bows forward and inhales, voice culminating in a lovely manner at a crescendo in the music. He looks ethereal in the halo of the afternoon light, pretty and soft, and every bit of Oikawa that Iwaizumi has come to be familiar with.</p><p>Iwaizumi openly stares in shock as Oikawa continues to glide his fingers over the keys, his voice carrying through the air like a punch in the gut. He has a <em>beautiful </em>voice. <em>Of course, </em>he has a beautiful voice. Iwaizumi is both impressed and irrationally annoyed with this new information.</p><p>“What the hell, you can <em>sing, </em>too?”</p><p>Without thinking, Iwaizumi pushes his way into the recital room. Oikawa’s fingers stutter over the keys, hitting a couple incorrect and jarring notes. He twists on the bench with wide, surprised eyes at the interruption, but seems to relax a bit when he sees that it is only Iwaizumi who has entered the room.</p><p>“Well, hello there to you, too, Iwa-chan. Do you often interrupt musicians while they are practicing or am I the only one to receive such special treatment?” His words are lofty and lilting with their usual air of tease, but there is something tight in his expression that Iwaizumi hasn’t seen before.</p><p>“I – “ Iwaizumi begins, flushing because he realizes that it <em>is </em>rude to interrupt someone mid-performance. “Sorry, I was just surprised, is all. I’ll leave you to it.”</p><p>He turns to go, but Oikawa doesn’t let him. “Wait – no.” Oikawa calls back. “It’s okay, you can stay.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s gaze is wary when he turns back toward Oikawa. Oikawa offers him a placating smile that Iwaizumi doesn’t bite onto. “Really, Iwa-chan. I’d like it if you stayed.”</p><p>Iwaizumi isn’t good at denying such blatant and genuine requests for company, so he lets his bag slip off his shoulder to rest on the floor. He walks up to the piano as Oikawa slides over, making room for him to sit. “Have you ever played piano before?”</p><p>Iwaizumi shakes his head with an amused chuckle. “No, I have absolutely no musical talent besides being able to dance, if that even counts.”</p><p>Oikawa looks at him oddly. “Playing piano and singing isn’t a talent, Iwa-chan.” He says earnestly. “It takes a lot of practice. Anyone can learn. Just like dancing.”</p><p>He plays a few notes of a different song than the one he was playing before. It is beautiful. Iwaizumi swallows the sudden thickness that swells in his throat. “So, you play music, sing, <em>and </em>you dance?”</p><p>The smile that graces Oikawa’s features is brittle and tight. It is the fakest expression Iwaizumi has ever seen the boy give. “I know it’s hard to accept how skilled I am.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and Oikawa’s hands drop to his lap. He sighs softly and Iwaizumi is hit with the sudden notion that Oikawa is unhappy. “I’m actually here at the school on a piano scholarship. My parents got me into piano lessons when I was really young. They’ve always had this dream that I’ll end up being some sort of impressive pianist one day. I caught onto it a lot quicker than many of the other children when I first started, so they were swept away by this grand idea that I’m some natural genius of a musician.” He explains, sounding tired. “The dancing is actually my hobby.”</p><p>
  <em>The dancing is actually my hobby. </em>
</p><p>“There’s no way.” Iwaizumi sputters indignantly. “How are you real?”</p><p>Oikawa flushes at Iwaizumi’s earnest question. He laughs lightly. “I know, I’m amazing.” He says, but there is none of his normal oomph behind the jibe. “My parents agreed to let me take dancing lessons as long as I continued performing well in piano and vocals. So, this is how it’s always been. I do most of my music practice after school because the pianos are free then.” He clears his throat. “My parents are expecting me to do some sort of piano recital at the school’s end-of-year annual showcase.”</p><p>Iwaizumi is absolutely floored. He can’t even begin to imagine the amount of work it must take to make it through classes all day and then practice <em>more art </em>afterward, for god knows how long. He can’t imagine having to do something for his parents’ dreams just so he can continue to pursue his own. This new information makes his head feel fuzzy. He reaches up and idly presses down a couple keys, the deep notes they release humming through the air. “So, what are you going to play?”</p><p>There is a quiet moment where Oikawa says nothing and doesn’t move. Then, he says. “I’m not going to play piano.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s brows furrow. “What?”</p><p>Oikawa’s cheeks are dusted a pretty pink, the light from the afternoon sun making his skin glimmer with gold. He is really, awfully pretty. Oikawa bites at his lower lip with a nervous expression before he answers. “I’m planning a dance routine.”</p><p>Iwaizumi is, for the third time in the past ten minutes, surprised. “You’re – really? But what about your parents?”</p><p>Oikawa shrugs and pulls at a loose string at the hem of his shirt. “I’ve been following their dreams for the past seventeen years of my life, Iwa-chan. I don’t want to do that anymore. Piano is fine. I’m good at it. I’m a good singer.” He looks up, catching Iwaizumi’s eyes. There is a determined glint in his gaze that makes Iwaizumi feel a little lightheaded. “But I <em>want </em>to dance. Nothing makes me feel the way I do when I’m dancing.”</p><p>Iwaizumi <em>understands. </em>He really, really does. He realizes that Oikawa has gifted him this information because he too knows that Iwaizumi understands. He swallows hard and has to look away from the intensity of Oikawa’s gaze. After a moment of contemplation, he lets out an amused chuckle. “Fuck, Oikawa.” He says, offering the boy a lopsided smile. “I never knew you were such a rebel.”</p><p>Oikawa’s intense gaze falls into something playful, something that Iwaizumi recognizes. The familiar expression relieves him. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Hajime.”</p><p>The paler boy always manages to say his given name in a way that makes Iwaizumi’s stomach twist. He rolls his eyes to fight off the flutter of feelings that suddenly rise in his belly. “Oh, please, Shittykawa. You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”</p><p>He stands, then, offering Oikawa a genuine smile. “Thanks for trusting me with that information, though.” He says, words honest. “I think it’s a great idea. You’re a fucking great dancer. And you should do what you want.” He moves to pick up his backpack, wanting to give Oikawa his space and privacy to continue his practice.</p><p>“Iwa-chan, wait!” Oikawa calls, grabbing ahold of Iwaizumi’s wrist to keep him from leaving. Oikawa’s cheeks are a darker shade of pink than they were earlier, and Iwaizumi’s heart is suddenly in his chest, constricting with unasked-for affection. “I – Will you do it with me?”</p><p>Iwaizumi should probably get used to surprises when it comes to Oikawa. “What do you mean?” He blurts the question out. “Like, will I do the showcase with you?”</p><p>Oikawa’s fingers tighten around Iwaizumi’s wrist. He casts his gaze downward demurely. “Yes. Will you be my partner? I would much rather do a partner routine.”</p><p>Iwaizumi swallows the sudden lump in his throat. He thinks about the time he brought Oikawa to the Grounds, thinks about the ease by which Oikawa languidly integrated himself into their dance routine, about the way he moved his body, the heat and sweat of his skin. “Why me?” He questions softly. “There are so many others who would gladly do the showcase with you.”</p><p>Oikawa huffs. “Are you saying you <em>don’t </em>want to do it?”</p><p>“Well, no. That’s not it. Just – there are much better dancers at this school than me, and – “</p><p>Dropping Iwaizumi’s wrist, Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Oh, <em>please. </em>You may not be classically trained, but I know unadulterated talent when I see it, Iwa-chan.” He says. Then, with a teasing lilt but all honesty, “Besides, don’t even <em>try </em>to pretend like we don’t have amazing chemistry. We work well together, even if you are annoyingly brutish sometimes.”</p><p>Iwaizumi opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. He closes it, tries again, fails. He doesn’t know what to say in response to <em>that. </em>He is flattered and he is annoyed that Oikawa is <em>right. </em>He also can’t fight the flutter in his chest.</p><p>
  <em>We work well together. </em>
</p><p>“<em>But,” </em>Oikawa continues, seeing Iwaizumi’s obvious discomfort. “If that’s something that your crew wouldn’t be too pleased with, I understand. I can find someone else.”</p><p>Honestly, Iwaizumi hadn’t even thought of that. He thinks of Semi, puffed up and angry after Iwaizumi brought Oikawa to the Grounds. Thinks of Noya ruffling Hinata’s hair and Matsukawa leaning on Daichi’s shoulder, snapback fluffing down his hair. Thinks of Kuroo’s lazy grins and Bokuto’s crazy, wild hair and Yaku’s cool breakdancing moves. Yachi’s sweet smile and bentos she makes for them; Tanaka’s outrageous need to rip off his shirt during every one of their routines.</p><p>He loves that crew.</p><p>Iwaizumi looks at the boy sitting in the golden afternoon light in front of him. He looks like he’s walked straight out of a magazine – sharp angles, round eyes, soft hair, plush lips, raw talent that he has honed to the caliber it’s at today.</p><p>He… feels some kind of way about this boy.</p><p>He swallows. Oikawa is still waiting for some form of a reply. “I’ll talk to them. It’ll be okay. I’ll do it.”</p><p>Oikawa, to his credit, looks surprised. His eyes light up with the smile that spreads across his cheeks. “Wait. Really?”</p><p>Iwaizumi furrows his eyes. “What, did you expect me to say no?”</p><p>Oikawa holds up his hands in defense. “No! I just – I know your crew is important to you. I don’t want this to cause any trouble. I’d seriously understand if you declined the once-in-a-lifetime offer to work with a talent such as myself because of them.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and reaches out, whacking Oikawa upside the head. “Hey!” Oikawa exclaims. “You’re going to mess up my hair!”</p><p>Iwaizumi grabs his backpack and swings it over his shoulder. “There’s no saving your hair, Shittykawa.” He taunts. As he reaches the door, he turns back around. “Text me a practice schedule, yeah? I’ll talk to the crew.”</p><p>Oikawa’s smile is genuine and appreciative. Iwaizumi has to look away so that it doesn’t blind him. “Will do, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>---</p><p>Iwaizumi decides to text Daichi about it first.</p><p>
  <strong>To: Dad-chi [6:02pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Hey. Question.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>From: Dad-chi [6:03pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Shoot.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>To: Dad-chi [6.05pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>A classmate asked me to perform with him at the end-of-year showcase.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>From: Dad-chi [6:06pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Iwaizumi, that’s a statement, not a question.</em>
</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. <em>Fucking Daichi.</em></p><p>
  <strong>To: Dad-chi [6:07pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I said I’d do it. But it means that I likely won’t be able to make it to a lot of the crew’s afterschool sessions. Do you think that’d be okay?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>From: Dad-chi [6:08pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Is it Oikawa?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>To: Dad-chi [6:08pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Wtf, why does it matter?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>From: Dad-chi [6:09pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, that answers my question for me. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>From: Dad-chi [6:09pm]</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>You know that’s fine, Iwaizumi. I mean, some of the members might be pissed, but you should do what you want. Do what makes you happy. That’s what we want you to do.</em>
</p><p>Iwaizumi does his best to convince himself that Daichi is right.</p><p>---</p><p>“Are you mad?”</p><p>Iwaizumi kicks his heels against the pavement of the wall he’s sitting on. Kuroo sits next to him, sipping on a Caprisun, and Matsukawa is laying horizontal on the wall, one foot hanging off the side, staring up at the sky.</p><p>Kuroo raises a brow. “What?” He asks, archly. “What is there to be mad about?”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. He forgot that he’s currently in the company of the two most carefree people he’s ever met, minus Hanamaki. “Let me rephrase. Is anyone <em>else</em> mad? About me skipping out on the crew for the showcase?”</p><p>Next to him, Matsukawa shrugs his shoulders, which looks a little funny because he’s laying down. He tilts his head slightly, his unruly locks of hair falling to the side. “Eh, Hinata is a little upset, but that’s because he loves practicing with you, not because he thinks you’re abandoning us or anything. Semi is pretty pissed, but what’s new?”</p><p>Iwaizumi nods. That’s fair.</p><p>Kuroo hums. “Yaku said that he’s worried you’re getting too attached to the prep school kids.” He says, finishing up his Caprisun. “Which is valid. I don’t really think any of us are mad. We just don’t want to see you get hurt.”</p><p>Iwaizumi furrows his brows. “What do you mean? How would I get hurt?”</p><p>Kuroo tilts his head toward Iwaizumi, expression thoughtful as if he were thinking of the best way to say the words he wants to say. “Well, we’re different from them, you know? They have money and class and shit. It’s a mad different world. Just don’t want to see you get used or, you know, get your heart broken by a pretty boy with good moves and soft hair.”</p><p>“<em>You’re </em>a pretty boy with good moves and soft hair, Kuroo.” Matsukawa says, teasing.</p><p>Kuroo leans forward so he can reach his arm around Iwaizumi for a fist bump. “Aw, bro. You’re the best. You, too, man.”</p><p>Iwaizumi shoves Kuroo’s arm away from him in exasperation. “God, get your bromance out of here.” He mutters, earning himself a laugh from Kuroo. “But seriously, I’m not – that’s not something to worry about, okay? Oikawa and I are just friends.”</p><p>Matsukawa snorts in disbelief. “Iwaizumi, anyone with <em>eyes</em> can tell that’s not true. You two have too much chemistry for that.”</p><p>“We’re <em>just friends.”</em> Iwaizumi insists, though he’s unsure who he’s trying to convince more – his friends or himself. “And – regardless, if I get my heart broken, it’s my problem.”</p><p>Kuroo shoves Iwaizumi in the arm and hops down from the wall. “Oh, shut the fuck up. If you get your heart broken, we’re all going to be looking for a fight. It’s the same for everyone in the crew. We’re a family.” He says, a slow grin slipping onto his face. “Just be careful, okay?”</p><p>Matsukawa and Iwaizumi both get down from the wall, too. Iwaizumi kicks at a rock with his shoe. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”</p><p>Matsukawa gives a lazy grin and throws his arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “So, does your pretty boy have any other pretty friends?”</p><p>---</p><p>“Hey, ma? Can I talk to you?”</p><p>Iwaizumi fidgets in the doorway to their living room. His mother is sitting on the couch, glasses perched on her nose, looking at something on her computer screen. She sits up straighter at his question. “Of course, honey.”</p><p>He steps into their living space and sits down next to her. Clearing his throat, he says, “Uh, so. My friend kind of asked me to do a project with him.”</p><p>She raises a brow. “Okay?” She pauses. “What kind of project?”</p><p>“Uh, well, it’s a dance routine.” He answers, swallowing nervously – he’s not sure why he’s so nervous. His mom has always been supportive of his endeavors – that’s why he’s at Seijou in the first place. “It’s actually a performance for the end-of-year showcase at Seijou.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s mom looks a bit surprised, eyebrows jumping up into her hairline. “Oh! That’s a big deal. Are you going to do it?”</p><p>Iwaizumi runs a hand through his hair and licks his lips. “Well – yeah, I want to. I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you. I’d probably be, you know, home late. We’d have to practice after school.”</p><p>His mother smiles and reaches out to rub a caring hand over his shoulders. She pulls him in for a one-armed hug and gives him a squeeze. “I appreciate you asking. You know I’m supportive of these things, as long as you’re happy and healthy, baby.”</p><p>He smiles at his mom, feeling some sort of unexplained weight lift off of his shoulders. This conversation feels more important than it was intended to be, but he’s glad that he had it.</p><p>“Thanks, mom.”</p><p>---</p><p>They begin practicing for the showcase every evening after school. It is a grueling schedule, if Iwaizumi is honest, but he knows Oikawa must have it worse with fitting in piano lessons somewhere, too.</p><p>Secretly, he thinks Oikawa must be a machine.</p><p>Oikawa is full of energy when they practice for the performance. He seems genuinely excited about putting it together. He asks Iwaizumi for his input on certain ideas, inquires about things Iwaizumi might be comfortable with trying. He is animated when he explains his outline of thoughts, moving Iwaizumi through the story he’d like to tell from the beginning to end.</p><p>Iwaizumi thinks that this version of Oikawa is his favorite version – the one that is genuinely enthusiastic and happy, who smiles with all his teeth, and laughs hard enough that he snorts sometimes.</p><p>Iwaizumi doesn’t think Oikawa needs to work so hard to try and be charming.</p><p>They <em>do </em>work well together, as Oikawa had said the day he asked Iwaizumi to do the performance with him. Their ideas weave together with ease, melding and folding around each other, making space for the other’s thoughts and enthusiasms.</p><p>By the nature of it all, Iwaizumi spends a lot of time staring at Oikawa. He watches the way his body moves with ease, flowing like water with how fluid he arches his back and stretches his legs, landing light as a cat on his feet when he jumps and splits.</p><p>When Iwaizumi watches Oikawa, he thinks, <em>this is what art is</em>, and also, <em>I can’t believe I get to be a part of it.</em></p><p>---</p><p>One day, Oikawa takes Iwaizumi by complete surprise when he asks, “Iwa-chan, do you think some members of your crew would be willing to come work with us on part of the routine?”</p><p>Oikawa wants to learn a couple new techniques that he saw during his visit to the Grounds. Iwaizumi is too shocked to respond with anything other than, “I can ask.”</p><p>When he asks, Matsukawa is absolutely <em>delighted</em>. “I am not turning down the opportunity to see your prep school boyfriend again. He was a treat.”</p><p>Iwaizumi, of course, fumbles through a defensive, “<em>He’s not my boyfriend.”</em></p><p>Daichi, wanting to ensure that Matsukawa doesn’t cause any chaos, says, “I’d be happy to tag along.”</p><p>And that’s how they end up here, in the studio on a Thursday night. Iwaizumi shows up with Matsukawa and Daichi in tow, surprised to see Oikawa isn’t alone in the studio when he arrives – Suga and Hanamaki are there, too.</p><p>“Listen, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki answers Iwaizumi’s questioning look. “I was not about to miss the opportunity to see what some of your crewmembers might look like.” He grins, gaze sweeping over Daichi and Matsukawa, turning lazy and boyish when his eyes scan over Matsukawa, “And I am <em>not </em>disappointed.”</p><p>Matsukawa, completely shameless, gives Hanamaki an answering grin and blows him a kiss.</p><p>Suga pops over next to Daichi. “No kidding, Makki,” He pipes up, eyeing Daichi’s biceps. “Look at this guy’s arms. They’re even more impressive than Iwaizumi’s!” He tosses a flirtatious smile in Daichi’s direction, who blushes like a sunburnt baby.</p><p>Iwaizumi can’t believe this is happening.</p><p>Oikawa watches with an amused expression. When Iwaizumi looks over at him for help, he just shrugs as if to say, <em>what can you do? </em></p><p>Which, Iwaizumi reckons, is fair. Hanamaki is definitely always going to do what Hanamaki wants to do. Suga is an absolute wild card. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to predict Suga’s moves. He’s too mischievous, and his angelic smile is deceiving. He almost wants to warn Daichi.</p><p>They spend the evening doing more laughing than they do dancing, but Daichi and Matsukawa, true to their word, are happy to try and train Oikawa in some of their movements. Hanamaki and Suga, of course, join in, too, though they don’t take it too seriously.</p><p>Iwaizumi practices some of his parts to the routine separately, but he mainly does a lot of observing. Something warm shifts in his chest as he watches two of the people he trusts most in this life laughing, smiling, and joking with the school boys. Hanamaki and Matsukawa get on like they are two halves of one whole that were separated at birth. Suga is a good complement to Daichi’s starchy, no-nonsense authority. Oikawa picks up the moves with relative ease, grinning over at Iwaizumi with pride when he nails a couple in a row.</p><p>Iwaizumi grins back, surprised, but not upset, with how happy he is in that moment.</p><p>---</p><p>It’s warm in the recital room today – higher temperatures than usual for springtime this week. Iwaizumi wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm and groans.</p><p>Oikawa looks no better, the back of his shirt pooling with sweat at the small of his back, even though the article of clothing is loose. His cheeks are flushed from exertion and the heat. Iwaizumi almost wants to ask if they can just call it for the day, but he knows that’d be foolish.</p><p>Iwaizumi reaches down and tugs his tank top up over his shoulders. He’s used to practices with the crew, outside in the summer heat, all of them clad in as little clothing as possible. Kuroo showed up in some bathing trunks once because he said, “It’s the middle of hell out here, it’s too hot to put on real clothes of any kind.” He had a point.</p><p>He balls the shirt up and uses it to wipe his face before tossing it into the corner. When he turns to direct his gaze at Oikawa, the dancer is giving him an incredulous and wide-eyed look. Iwaizumi raises a brow. “What?”</p><p>Oikawa’s eyes scan down Iwaizumi’s torso quickly before snapping back up to his face, but Iwaizumi can’t help but smirk when his eyes keep returning to the newly exposed skin. “You’re shirtless.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh. “Wow, you really <em>are </em>a genius.”</p><p>Oikawa flushes and glares. “Shut up.” He responds, brain too heated to come up with a better retort. “Let’s start from the third rotation again.”</p><p>They do, and things go smoothly until they get to a part in the routine where they are dancing together, bodies close. Oikawa missteps and fumbles. Iwaizumi catches him by the waist and keeps him from stumbling all the way onto his butt. “You okay?”</p><p>There is a hot blush on Oikawa’s cheeks that spreads all the way down his neck. Iwaizumi doesn’t really understand why he is so flustered – he’s seen Oikawa mess up plenty of times before. “Yeah, I – Sorry.” Oikawa mutters. “Let’s start again.”</p><p>They try the routine again. They get past where Oikawa made a hiccup the first time, but they fumble a few beats past it when Iwaizumi has his hands on Oikawa’s waist from behind, Oikawa’s slender back pressed to Iwaizumi’s chest. This time when they have to regroup, Oikawa turns on him with a flustered glare.</p><p>“Okay, no.” He snaps in a huff. “You need to put your shirt back on.”</p><p>Iwaizumi furrows his brows and is about to ask <em>what the fuck, why? </em>when he takes in the rouge tint of Oikawa’s cheeks again and realization hits him like a ton of bricks.</p><p>His lips pull into a haughty grin, all sharp-toothed and cocky. “Oh? Sorry, are you <em>distracted</em> or something?”</p><p>Oikawa doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead he crosses his arms and turns away, but Iwaizumi can see the flush on the back of his neck. “<em>No.” </em>He denies. “But we’ll be in specific clothing for the performance, so you shouldn’t be practicing without something on. It’s not good form.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes because Oikawa’s reasoning is entirely illogical. He steps forward until he can press his chest against Oikawa’s back and skims his fingers over Oikawa’s shoulder. He smirks when Oikawa stiffens and leans forward so his breath tickles Oikawa’s ear when he speaks. “You’re a horrendous liar.” He calls him out. “You just can’t focus because I’m <em>hot</em>.”</p><p>Oikawa elbows Iwaizumi in the ribs with an embarrassed squawk. Iwaizumi laughs, big and full and stupidly happy, stumbling backwards. Oikawa is a flustered mess, a rare sight compared to the usual composed and flirtatious version he exhibits, and Iwaizumi is charmed.</p><p>He considers teasing Oikawa some more, but knows how important getting the routine down is to the other dancer. So, after more mumbling from Oikawa, he begrudgingly pulls the shirt back over his head for the rest of their practice session.</p><p>---</p><p>They’ve got two weeks until the showcase, and Oikawa is exhausted. Iwaizumi can tell. He is moving slower than usual, having a harder time keeping pace and hitting some of the more complicated and intricate parts of their routine, and he’s getting frustrated at himself because of it.</p><p>He jumps up, legs curling under himself to land in a squat, but he miscalculates and doesn’t give himself enough time to stick the landing. His ankle rolls under him and he hits the ground with a loud thud. Iwaizumi rushes to his side, hands reaching to help him.</p><p>“You okay?” He asks, but Oikawa brushes him off.</p><p>“I’m fine, Iwa-chan.” He insists, ignoring Iwaizumi’s offer to help and stands on his own. Iwaizumi, still kneeling, eyes his ankle suspiciously.</p><p>“Oikawa, maybe we should call it for the day – “</p><p>“No!” Oikawa snaps, glaring at Iwaizumi for even suggesting such a thing. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“It’s <em>late.”</em></p><p>Oikawa raises a brow primly. “So? We usually practice until 9pm. What, are you tired? Is it too much for you?”</p><p>He’s deflecting <em>and </em>projecting. Iwaizumi grinds his teeth together and tries to calm himself as he stands. “No, but <em>you’re </em>tired. Jesus, Oikawa, you’ve been running yourself ragged. What’s your routine like nowadays? Up early for school, piano lessons after school, dance practice after <em>that, then </em>homework?”</p><p>Oikawa props his hands on his hips, his entire stance reeking of attitude. Iwaizumi can tell that he’s looking for a fight. “What’s it to you, Iwa-chan? Why does it matter?”</p><p>Iwaizumi throws his hands up above his head in frustration. “What do you <em>mean? </em>It matters because you’re going to <em>hurt </em>yourself, asshole. If you’re not well rested, shit like this happens. You fall and you can permanently damage yourself. And <em>then</em> you won’t be able to dance ever again.”</p><p>Turning away stubbornly, Oikawa picks up a bottle of water and takes a swig. He stands tall, at his full height, trying to look imposing and confident. It just works to piss Iwaizumi off more. “Thanks for the concern, Iwa-chan, but a street rat like <em>you</em> wouldn’t understand the kind of pressure that I’m under. I don’t need your sympathy.”</p><p>Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa in surprise, a flare of hurt rising in his chest. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on with Oikawa, but he doesn’t like it – and he’s not going to stay to let it keep happening. He turns away silently and begins packing his stuff up, shoving his feet into his shoes.</p><p>Oikawa huffs. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“What’s it look like?” Iwaizumi snaps, grabbing his snapback and tugging it onto his head. He looks Oikawa straight in the eye. “I’m clearly unwanted here because a <em>street rat </em>like me couldn’t possibly understand you.” There is venom in his words, and he is momentarily glad to see the regret that crosses Oikawa’s expression. “Regardless, I’m not going to work with a partner who doesn’t value his well-being. I’m out.”</p><p>He doesn’t wait for Oikawa to try and apologize, to try and persuade him to stay, because he knows it’s only going to make his heart squeeze with affection and he’s going to cave, and he doesn’t <em>want </em>to cave – he wants to do what’s right, and he knows that walking away is the best chance he has of getting Oikawa to take a break and rest in some form or another, and that’s the right thing to do. He hurries out of the recital room and into the brisk night air quickly, all the while trying to fight the dull ache in his chest as he does so.</p><p>---</p><p>Iwaizumi doesn’t even acknowledge Oikawa’s existence the next two days at school, which is extremely difficult to do after how much their relationship has changed since they first met. There is an awkward, painful tension between them that is palpable to all of their classmates.</p><p>He’s off his game because his mind is elsewhere. It keeps bringing up thoughts of Oikawa, pressed close, the ease by which his body moves, the curve of his smile. The tinkle of his laugh and the grace of his fingers over piano keys. His heart aches when he sees the boy in class, and it aches when he is away from him. He feels like he can’t win.</p><p>Oikawa tries to talk to him, though. He tries every method that he knows – starts with the taunting jibe that critiques his technique, moves into trying to compliment his form, tries to ask him completely unrelated things, like <em>did you have trouble with the math homework</em>? and <em>Suga won’t shut up about how much he wants to lick Daichi’s biceps. </em></p><p>The quip about Suga and Daichi’s biceps almost gets Iwaizumi to crack – because Daichi hasn’t stopped asking Iwaizumi about <em>that pretty silver-haired boy from your class, what was his name? </em>and Iwaizumi thinks they’d make an excellent match, too. But he refrains, even though it’s hard, and hates the way Oikawa’s expression falls every time he fails to garner Iwaizumi’s attention.</p><p>---</p><p>Iwaizumi’s mom is far more observant than he thinks.</p><p>“Is everything okay, Hajime?”</p><p>Iwaizumi looks up from his breakfast at her question. She is standing across the kitchen, leaning back against the counter with a cup of coffee in her hand. Iwaizumi is reminded, not for the first time in his life, that his mother is a very beautiful woman. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”</p><p>His mom tilts his head and gives him a scrutinizing look. “Well, for one, you’ve been sulking. Also, you’ve been home a lot earlier after school than you have since you started practicing with your friend.”</p><p>“I’m not <em>sulking.</em>”</p><p>Her lips quirk up as she pads her way across the kitchen, ruffling Iwaizumi’s hair. His snapback lays on the counter next to his plate. She picks it up and flips it onto his head with the bill facing forward – the way it was <em>designed </em>to be worn. She knows he hardly ever where’s it forward and puts it on that way to mess with him. “Yes, you are, honey. Did you and your friend get in a fight? What was his name again?”</p><p>Iwaizumi sighs, reaches up to fix his hat, and leans back in his chair. “Oikawa Tooru.” He supplies. “And, sort of, I guess.”</p><p>She hums and takes a sip of her coffee. “Are you still doing the showcase?”</p><p>Iwaizumi is surprised by her question. He had technically walked out on Oikawa, but – well, he didn’t expect to <em>stay away. </em>Not for long, anyway. Just long enough for them both to calm down. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”</p><p>His mom hums again and reaches out to pat him on the back. “Okay.” She says. Then, after a moment, she adds, “You’ve been really happy these past few weeks. I’m glad – I know you love dancing with your friends, and that’s always made you happy, but this has seemed… different. Like my little boy is finally growing up.”</p><p>She gives him a pointed look and Iwaizumi is not dense enough to know that she is insinuating something about Oikawa. He chooses not to respond to the subtext. “Whatever you say, ma.”</p><p>She huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Go finish getting ready for school, kid.”</p><p>---</p><p>It is the five days after their argument and Hinata can’t stand it anymore.</p><p>“Iwaizumi, if you don’t go make up with Oikawa <em>right now, </em>I am going to soak all of your undergarments in chili sauce.” The orange-haired ball of sunshine threatens, standing in front of Iwaizumi with his hands on his hips and his most intimidating expression.</p><p>Iwaizumi makes a face between disgust and awe. “How does your brain even <em>work?</em>”</p><p>Hinata waves the comment off. “I’m serious, Iwaizumi. You’ve been moping all week. We love having you around to dance with us, but we’d rather have you a couple days a week when you’re happy than every day of the week when you’re sad.” He says, open and honest and straightforward, as Hinata always is. “None of us are at our best when one of the crew is upset. We’re a team.”</p><p>Iwaizumi thinks back to his discussion with Matsukawa and Kuroo a few weeks prior. <em>We just don’t want to see you get hurt. </em></p><p>Because when one of them is hurt, they’re all hurt.</p><p>Iwaizumi sighs, rubbing the heel of his palm to an eye. He hasn’t been sleeping well the past few days. Oikawa tried to text him a couple of times, but he hasn’t responded. He feels like shit. “I know, Hinata. I’m just worried about him and pissed that he doesn’t take care of himself.”</p><p>Hinata cocks his head. “Of course you are. You’re a team.” He says, as if it’s the most factual thing in the world.</p><p>Iwaizumi flushes and stares at Hinata with an unreadable expression. He isn’t sure how this tiny ball of energy and sunshine manages to always know the right thing to say. He smiles softly, reaching out to ruffle Hinata’s fluff of orange locks. “Thanks, Hinata.”</p><p>He turns away and starts gathering his things. Hinata hops around excitedly behind him. “Are you going to go talk to Oikawa?”</p><p>Iwaizumi feels his flush deepen as he shoves his snapback onto his head. “I – Yeah. Yeah, I am.”</p><p>Hinata fist-bumps the air. “Yes! I really didn’t want to have to soak your underwear in chili sauce, if I’m being honest.”</p><p>Iwaizumi shoves Hinata out of his way as he leaves. <em>What a fucking weirdo, </em>he thinks. Then, with a fond smile, <em>I love that kid.</em></p><p>---</p><p>He gets to their usual recital room around 7:30pm. He didn’t give any warning that he was showing up – and part of him hopes that Oikawa isn’t there. Part of him hopes that he has been taking a break from the rehearsal since he’s lost his partner.</p><p>(There is a small part of him that fears that Oikawa will have replaced him.)</p><p>The light to the recital room is on. He doesn’t knock before he enters. Oikawa is sitting in a chair, bent over some papers – choreography plans – with his hands in his hair. When the door opens, Oikawa looks up, surprised. He looks just as exhausted as Iwaizumi feels. His hair is a mess across his forehead, his eyes heavy with lethargy, cheeks pale and lacking their usual lively pink hue.</p><p>Oikawa sits up straight, the papers falling from his lap in his haste. “Iwa-“</p><p>“No.” Iwaizumi interrupts at once. His heart is pounding in his chest, but he holds onto Hinata’s words as he continues. He steps forward and drops his bag to the floor. “I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. Got it?”</p><p>Oikawa stares at him with wide eyes. He nods in understanding. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath before continuing. “You and me,” He points between them with a shaking finger. “We’re a goddamn team, okay? You asked me to be your partner for this routine. You can’t fucking do it on your own, and I can’t do it without you, either.” He pauses, glancing away as heat crawls up his neck. “If one wheel of car goes out, the whole thing is in trouble. If you aren’t at your best, I can’t be at my best. Do you understand what I’m saying?”</p><p>Iwaizumi watches Oikawa’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. The pale boy licks at his dry lips, a pretty pink blush creeping up his neck. “Yes.” He croaks.</p><p>Iwaizmi raises a brow. “So, what am I saying?”</p><p>Oikawa rolls his eyes. “What, Iwa-chan, are you my mom?” Iwaizumi just stares expectantly. Oikawa huffs, cheeks darkening. “If I don’t take care of myself, then our performance will suffer.”</p><p>“No.” Iwaizumi says. “You’ve got it wrong.” Oikawa’s brows furrow as he looks back at the street dancer. “It goes both ways. I have to take care of myself, too. We <em>both</em> have to take care of ourselves, or <em>our </em>performance will suffer. What part of being on a team don’t you understand?”</p><p>Oikawa swallows harshly. “Apparently all of it.” He says primly. Frustration rises on Iwaizumi’s face, and Oikawa raises his hands quickly in a peaceful offering. “No – I’m sorry. You’re right.” He amends quickly and steps toward Iwaizumi and over the papers that scattered to the floor earlier. “I’m <em>really </em>sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration about everything out on you. I just – I feel so fucking inadequate, like it doesn’t matter how much I try, doesn’t matter which art I pursue, I’m never going to be good enough.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s heart squeezes in his chest as Oikawa’s open and honest words. He steps closer, a soft smile on his lips. “Well, that’s stupid.” He responds, and Oikawa splutters. “I wish you could see the way you look when I watch you dance. Or play piano. Or sing. Or what-the-fuck-ever, eat a burger, I don’t know.” He reaches out and swipes his fingers through Oikawa’s hair briefly, reveling in just being <em>close </em>to the boy after five days of no contact. “You’re more than enough as you are, Tooru, as long as you’re doing what makes you happy.”</p><p>The dancer’s eyes widen, his lips parting slightly. His gaze looks glassy, as if he might cry. He looks away quickly, blinking rapidly and forcing a haughty smile onto his face, but the rosy tint to his cheeks remains. The air between them is electric, sparking with tension and unbridled affection that neither are ready to address quite yet. He reaches up and flips Iwaizumi’s snapback off of his head quickly as a distraction and fits it onto his own head. It’s too big, slouching backward a bit and ruffling his longer locks of hair. He steps back playfully, his movements as fluid and teasing as ever.</p><p>“C’mon now, Hajime,” Oikawa taunts. “It’s not like your brutish nature to be so sentimental!”</p><p>Iwaizumi growls playfully, lunging forward to grab at his hat. Oikawa giggles loudly, dancing around the scattered papers on the floor, the table and chairs, the litter of empty water bottles and tapes. The last rays of sun skim through the curtains, illuminating the room in golden pinks. Iwaizumi chases Oikawa around the room until he somehow manages to corner the taller dancer, boxing him in with hands on the wall beside his head.</p><p>Oikawa doesn’t hesitate to lift his arms and let his hands slide over Iwaizumi’s shoulders. His long pianist’s fingers tease the hair at the nape of his neck, and Iwaizumi slides closer, rests a hand on one of Oikawa’s hips and the other at his waist. He admires the way the sunset’s colors illuminate Oikawa’s eyes, the dusting of nearly translucent freckles across his nose, the way his hair curls up around Iwaizumi’s hat.</p><p>Without thinking it through, Iwaizumi says, “You look good in my hat.”</p><p>Oikawa’s expression shifts from something playful to something warmer, his lids falling down to hood his eyes. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth coyly. “Wow, Hajime. You sure know what to say to woo a man.”</p><p>Iwaizumi huffs, but his face warms in a hot blush. “Please, who would want to woo you?”</p><p>“I can literally name at least ten people off the top of my head that I know of, would you like to hear the list? There’s Misaka from – “</p><p>Iwaizumi <em>literally </em>covers Oikawa’s mouth with one of his hands, glaring. Oikawa makes an indignant expression that looks hilarious beneath the cover of Iwaizumi’s hand. “You should stop talking while you’re ahead, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi murmurs, leaning closer.</p><p>He lets his hand slide down over Oikawa’s chin to rest at the side of his neck. His gaze slides back and forth between Oikawa’s pretty gaze and his pretty lips. Oikawa’s hands fidget with Iwaizumi’s hair as the street dancer leans in, bumping his nose to Oikawa’s.</p><p>Oikawa’s eyelashes flutter and his body moves naturally, arching minutely into Iwaizumi’s, inviting the tanned boy closer. He can feel the street dancer’s breath on his lips, across the delicate skin of his cheeks. His heart is pounding in his chest, aching to leap out of the cavity of his ribs and into the great unknown presented before him.</p><p>The tension is suffocating. Iwaizumi leans in further, and –</p><p>The loud shrill of Iwaizumi’s phone causes them both to leap in surprise, still pressed close together, but the tension lessened. Iwaizumi glances at his backpack before looking back at Oikawa.</p><p>“You <em>don’t </em>have to answer that right now.” Oikawa murmurs, licking his lips. His gaze drops to Iwaizumi’s mouth. “You really, really don’t.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s lips pull into a hot smirk and Oikawa swallows audibly. “Why’s that?” The street dancer teases, leaning forward again. Oikawa thinks Iwaizumi is going to actually kiss him this time, but instead he goes toward his ear, hot breath making his skin tingle. “There something you want from me?”</p><p>Oikawa makes a noise that is something between a frustrated groan and a whine, his fingers tugging in Iwaizumi’s hair. The ringing of Iwaizumi’s phone meets its end, leaving the atmosphere silent again, save for their breaths. “<em>Iwaizumi Hajime.” </em>He uses Iwaizumi’s full name as if scolding him like his mother would.</p><p>Iwaizumi grins, sharp-toothed and <em>cruel. </em>“Yeah?” He questions, nudging his nose at Oikawa’s ear again. Oikawa tilts his head slightly, giving Iwaizumi more room to access the sensitive area. “That’s me. Glad you know my name.”</p><p>“Oh my God, you – “</p><p>Iwaizumi’s phone goes off <em>again</em>, which is unusual. He glances at his bag again, this time actually pulling back with a furrowed brow. “It’s odd to get two calls in a row unless something is wrong – let me <em>actually </em>get that.”</p><p>Oikawa is obviously displeased, pressed up against the wall red-faced with Iwaizumi’s snapback on. Iwaizumi shoots him an apologetic smile and begrudgingly steps away to answer his phone.</p><p>He checks the screen and sees that it’s his mom. “Hello?”</p><p>“Hajime!” His mom’s voice comes from the other side. “Where are you, kid? You didn’t forget that Obaa-san was coming into town for dinner tonight, did you?”</p><p>
  <em>Whoops.</em>
</p><p>“Uh – “ Iwaizumi responds intelligently. “Sorry, ma. I’ll be home in like, ten minutes, okay? Tell Obaa-san that I’m on my way!”</p><p>He hangs up before his mom can give him a lecture on the importance of spending quality time with his family. He <em>knows </em>that, he just… got distracted. He turns and offers Oikawa another apologetic and sheepish smile. “Sorry, Oikawa. I’ve got to go. I forgot that we had arranged a big family dinner this week.”</p><p>Oikawa tries to hide his disappointment but does a poor job at it. He smiles wanly at Iwaizumi and waves a hand flippantly. “It’s fine, Iwa-chan!” He says. “Go be a good boy and eat a casserole with your Obaa-san.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes but smiles. He picks his bag up off the floor where he had dropped it earlier when he barged in. Oikawa shuffles around, picking up papers that had scattered earlier in his surprise. There is a thick tension in the air, the energy between them still electrified. When he has his back to Iwaizumi, the street dancer steps up behind him and wraps his fingers around his bicep.</p><p>Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi in surprise and Iwaizumi gives him the boyish grin that is all backstreet boy charm before he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. It’s barely a kiss, just a quick press of lips to skin, but it’s enough to have Oikawa’s breath catching in his throat.</p><p>As quickly as Iwaizumi is there, he gives Oikawa a wink and a farewell, and is gone. He leaves a flustered mess in his wake, and it takes ten minutes for Oikawa to realize that he still has Iwaizumi’s snapback perched on his head. Oikawa is too distracted the rest of the evening to get any practice of any kind done.</p><p>---</p><p>The tension in their classroom the next day is so thick that they can barely breathe. Oikawa is red-faced when he enters, gaze immediately fluttering across the room to meet Iwaizumi’s. He delicately steps over to the street dancer, his hat in his hands.</p><p>“Uh – “ He greets, heart in his throat and butterflies in his belly. Iwaizumi’s cheeks are faintly pink, too. “You left this.” He gestures to the snapback in his hands. “I hope your Obaa-san is well.”</p><p>Iwaizumi reaches out to take his snapback with a sheepish smile. He licks his lips and Oikawa stares at them unabashedly. “Yeah, she’s doing fine. Gave me a good talking-to because I was late for dinner though.”</p><p>And as if he has a radar for sexual tension, Suga is suddenly <em>there</em>, mischievous glint in his eyes. Oikawa idly thinks that the devil is pretty with silver hair and a lying, innocent aura about him. “Oh?” Suga teases with raised brows. “And why were you late for dinner, Hajime?” He pauses, eyeing the hat. “<em>Why </em>did Oikawa have your precious hat?”</p><p>Tsukishima pipes up from where he’s sitting on a nearby bench, nonchalantly observing the exchange. “Are you two fucking yet?” He asks bluntly. Makki offers him a fist to bump when Oikawa’s entire face goes cherry red. Tsukishima bumps it back reluctantly. Yamaguchi snickers behind a hand.</p><p>Iwaizumi covers his entire face with his hat while Oikawa yowls, “Of <em>course not! </em>I’m too delicate for a brute like Iwa-chan!”</p><p>That is <em>not </em>the right thing to say. From the corner where he’s stretching, Akaashi mutters, “Yeah, he’d absolutely destroy your ass.” To which Kenma huffs a laugh and tries to hide it behind his curtain of hair.</p><p>Lev, all six foot of gangly limbs, smiles at Oikawa with a wide, open expression, all innocence and honesty. “Yeah, but you’d like it, Oikawa. Iwaizumi’s the strong and solid type, while you’re like a sweet little sunflower. It’s the perfect complement!”</p><p>Hanamaki doesn’t miss a beat when he says, “More like Oikawa would like Iwaizumi to <em>deflower </em>his sunflower.”</p><p>Tsukishima absolutely <em>loses </em>it, doubling over in a fit of laughter. Iwaizumi slumps back against the wall in mortification and Oikawa just really doesn’t even know what to say to defend himself. Shirabu cracks a smile from the corner, delighting in Oikawa’s embarrassment. Asahi is blushing just as much as Oikawa is.</p><p>Suga smiles apologetically at Oikawa as he pats Iwaizumi comfortingly on the shoulder. Oikawa stomps away and pointedly ignores everyone for the entire duration of class. Iwaizumi does his best to not think about the words <em>Oikawa </em>and <em>fucking </em>and <em>deflower </em>together in the same sentence and does a really, really bad job of it.</p><p>---</p><p>The end-of-school showcase arrives sooner than anyone really wants it to. The week before passes by in a blur of advertisement, chatter, and expectation.</p><p>The night of, Iwaizumi is filled with anxiety.</p><p>This is a different kind of performance than dancing at the Grounds with his crew. This is the kind of performance people <em>pay </em>to come watch. There is a heavy weight of expectation and anticipation that hangs in the air like nothing Iwaizumi has ever felt before.</p><p>Their performance is the very last one of the showcase. He stands in front of a full-length mirror in an expansive dressing room behind the stage. He is, of course, sans his usually snapback, so his hair, clean from a recent shower, is soft and fluffy. He is wearing a loose, white button-down with the sleeves folded up to the elbows and tucked into loose black joggers. Right now, he has on flip-flops, but they will both be barefoot for the performance.</p><p>He looks at himself in the mirror. His jaw is sharp, his shoulders broad and toned. The tint of his tanned skin peeks through his shirt. His outfit makes him look comfortable but fashionable, as if Oikawa had dressed him – which, of course, he had.</p><p>He doesn’t quite recognize himself, or what he’s about to do in the next half hour. It is so different from what and who he was at the start of the school year. It feels weird, but, he supposes, weird doesn’t have to be bad.</p><p>Oikawa steps into the room with his nose buried in pages of notes he has written, as if they haven’t practiced enough. He is dressed in a similar outfit. His hair is fluffy where it rests against his forehead. He worries his lip with his teeth. He is as nervous as Iwaizumi, but for very different reasons.</p><p>Without hesitating, Iwaizumi reaches out and snatches the papers from Oikawa’s hands. The taller boy looks up at Iwaizumi with a frown, but the irritation softens when he takes in Iwaizumi’s appearance.</p><p>“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases, “The ladies wouldn’t be able to leave you alone if you just wore proper clothing once in a while.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but he is grateful for the normal banter. It calms him, just a little. “I don’t really want attention from all of the ladies.”</p><p>The implication in his words is not lost to Oikawa. The pale boy’s cheeks light with a soft blush. “Well,” Oikawa coughs, looking away and running a hand through his hair. “Perhaps your performance tonight will capture the attention of whoever you’re interested in.”</p><p>Iwaizumi grins, sharp and hot. “Oh, it will.”</p><p>Oikawa bites his lip to keep himself from smiling. He reaches forward to take his papers back from Iwaizumi, but the street dancer holds them out of his reach. Oikawa steps closer to fight for them and Iwaizumi wastes no time in grabbing Oikawa by the waist to twist him around and press him against the mirror on the wall.</p><p>The roses in Oikawa’s cheeks are worth it. Iwaizumi smiles softly, his heart pounding in his chest. He steps away and hits Oikawa on the head with his notes. “You’ve looked at these enough. You’re going to be brilliant.”</p><p>In a different circumstance, Iwaizumi might have kissed him. He certainly feels the urge to do so, looking at the boy still leaning against the mirror, golden in the light of the dressing room as if the lights can’t help but shine on him in all his glory. But now is not the time to act on such an urge – now is not the time to distract them.</p><p>“We should probably go line up so we can watch the others.” Iwaizumi says instead. He steps back again and tosses the papers on a chair. He holds out his hand for Oikawa. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Oikawa stares at his outstretched hand for a moment. Then, he stands tall, gives a determined nod, and takes it.</p><p>---</p><p>The act before theirs finishes with a flurry of violins and cellos. It was a beautiful performance.</p><p>Iwaizumi feels like he’s going to throw up.</p><p>He stands at the side of the stage behind the curtains. The house curtains fall closed in preparation for Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s performance. Beside him, Oikawa takes a deep, steadying breath and then stands tall, the air of confidence that Iwaizumi has come to associate with him returning. He looks to Iwaizumi and gives him an honest and open smile.</p><p>He reaches out and grabs Iwaizumi’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Hajime.”</p><p>The words go straight to Iwaizumi’s heart. He feels pure affection and pride radiate from his bones. He feels the desperate urge to kiss Oikawa take over him again. He squeezes Oikawa’s hand instead. “Let’s do this.”</p><p>---</p><p>When the curtains part, Oikawa sits at a beautiful grand piano. His poise is impeccable, the spotlight casting him in an ethereal glow. With a deep breath, he raises his hands, hovers his fingers over the ivory keys, and begins to play.</p><p>The song starts out slow and somber. It is immediately captivating and moving, the deep notes resonating through the air. Iwaizumi can see part of the audience from his position at the side of the stage. They all watch with bated breaths.</p><p>Oikawa’s fingers skim over the keys with the ease of a pianist who has been playing for the entirety of his life. Iwaizumi swallows down his nerves as he hears his cue, straightens his shoulders, and steps onto the stage.</p><p>He appears from the opposite side of the stage where Oikawa sits and holds an old-fashioned boombox in his grasp. He sets the device down at the edge of the stage but does not do anything else with it. Oikawa continues to play his song, and Iwaizumi begins to dance.</p><p>He sweeps his body in a soft arch – one that had taken him quite a lot of practice to get to Oikawa’s liking; Iwaizumi’s style is far more rogue than ballet – and twists, landing on his feet as delicately as he can. He swings his arms up above his head and then dips low, sliding up onto his hands into a flip that lands him back in front of the boombox.</p><p>He presses play quickly, and then spins on his feet in a low crouch as a heavier bass begins to charge the air. Oikawa continues to play his somber piano, looking up at Iwaizumi from over the instrument. Their gazes meet, and Iwaizumi rises with the tempo of the song playing from the box. His movements begin to feel more like his own, familiar turns and dips as he approaches the piano.</p><p>He sweeps behind it so that he is within touching distance of Oikawa and reaches out, but just as he is about to grab Oikawa’s shoulder, the other boy stands abruptly, the piano piece coming to a halt at the same time the beat from the boombox pauses. They are both frozen, Iwaizumi reaching toward Oikawa, arm lifted in the air, and Oikawa standing at the piano bench, their gazes interlocked.</p><p>Then, the song from the boombox picks up, and they are both moving.</p><p>Just as they’ve practiced, Iwaizumi spins behind the piano bench and Oikawa suddenly leaps up <em>over</em> the piano top, rolling to land on his feet lithely on the other side of the instrument. He suddenly takes the center of the stage, moving his body fluidly with the music.</p><p>Iwaizumi feels a rush of excitement as a murmur comes from the crowd. He suppresses the urge to grin.</p><p>Iwaizumi moves around the piano to join Oikawa in the center of the stage as the music again begins to shift.</p><p>When Oikawa first designed the choreography, he told Iwaizumi that he wanted to tell the audience the story of a boy’s talent coming into bloom, of him realizing his passion and seeking it, relentlessly.</p><p>But then, a couple weeks into their practice, Oikawa had said, “Actually, I think it would be better if we made it so we both tell our own stories.”</p><p>It had made Iwaizumi’s breath catch in his throat, though he wasn’t entirely sure what Oikawa meant by that statement until they modified the set. And while Iwaizumi now understood what Oikawa had wanted, Iwaizumi thought their performance didn’t really tell their individual stories – instead, he thought it told the story of <em>them. </em></p><p>The music they have chosen starts out almost like something lo-fi. It is a mix of beat-boxing and piano. Oikawa’s movements clearly follow the melody of the classical instrument. As Iwaizumi joins him in the middle of the stage, he begins to follow the harsher background beat.</p><p>They dance around each other, literally dancing to the beat of their own drums, and then the music shifts yet again. It is a milder mix, less harsh and less separated. Oikawa begins to swing his body more aggressively, while Iwaizumi begins to soften.</p><p>As the music continues to shift, their style of dancing does, as well. Iwaizumi thinks Ukai might be proud to see such an assortment of styles melding together, to see his students, once enemies in his classroom, performing on a stage together, most certainly not enemies any longer.</p><p>The crescendo brings the two of them, finally, stepping together. They move together gracefully. Iwaizumi steps up behind Oikawa as the rhythm changes and places a hand on his waist. Oikawa jumps into the air, Iwaizumi capturing him with practiced ease, swinging him down and under his legs where Oikawa slides onto his knees and jumps up onto his hands, twisting his body into a pose reminiscent to moves Iwaizumi has seen dozens of times by his crew. Iwaizumi jumps back and over Oikawa, and as Oikawa lands back on his feet in a crouch, Iwaizumi offers him a hand.</p><p>Oikawa takes it and allows himself to be pulled up and forward. He falls into Iwaizumi as if he belongs there. The song begins to soften again, and, breathing heavily, they separate.</p><p>Oikawa falls back into his fluid, jazz-like movements, the kind he is most intimate with. Iwaizumi begins to twist into his street dancer style. They dance in a circle around each other, soft flexibility against beautiful chaos.</p><p>When the song ends, Oikawa is, once again, seated at the piano. Iwaizumi crouches at the side of the stage by the boombox.</p><p>Oikawa lifts his hands, fingers thrumming against the ivory keys once again, picking up where he left off. Iwaizumi can see the way his chest heaves from the exertion of the dance. The song turns into something hopeful and bright, making Iwaizumi’s chest fill with emotion.</p><p>The performance comes to an end and Oikawa meets Iwaizumi’s gaze over the top of the piano. Iwaizumi grins up at Oikawa.</p><p>The audience erupts in a round of applause. Iwaizumi can feel it in his bones, feel the excitement and success in the fast <em>thump, thump </em>of his heart. He sees the elation in Oikawa’s eyes, the rush of doing something <em>for him</em>, of being applauded for something that <em>he </em>wanted to do.</p><p>In that moment, Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa blossoms.</p><p>---</p><p>Being in the <em>after </em>of the performance feels surreal. They were the final act, so once the closing remarks are made, the audience is standing in a rush to catch up with the performers. Iwaizumi’s parents are the first ones to capture Iwaizumi and pull him aside.</p><p>His mom tugs him into a big bear hug and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hajime!” She exclaims, absolute awe in her tone. “You were <em>incredible!”</em></p><p>Iwaizumi’s smile is only a tiny bit embarrassed and mostly proud. He scratches at the back of his head. “Thanks, mom.”</p><p>He wants to say more – to ask what she thought of Oikawa’s dancing, to ask what she thought of the piano piece – but he is caught off-guard by someone tackling him from behind. He stumbles forward slightly from the weight of his aggressor.</p><p>“Iwaizumi!” It is Bokuto, all excitement and loud energy. “Man, that was <em>insane</em>. You two were like <em>pow! </em>And then <em>fwah!” </em></p><p>Iwaizumi laughs heartily and peels Bokuto off of him. A stranger passes by and calls out to him, telling him that he did an amazing job. He flushes from the attention and the compliments. When he looks around, he sees many familiar faces – most of his crew showed up to support him, like the phenomenal friends they are.</p><p>Iwaizumi’s mom glances around at them, too. She reaches out and runs her fingers through her son’s hair before placing another kiss on his forehead. “We’ll leave you to it,” She says with a smile. “And see you when you get home.”</p><p>He nods and waves his parents off, letting them go. He turns to his friends and thanks them for coming, feeling a bit overwhelmed by such a grand show of support.</p><p>A blur of pink hair fizzes into his vision. Hanamaki throws an arm around Iwaizumi’s sweaty shoulder. “My <em>man,</em>” He drawls, tone clearly impressed. “You are a legend. Great fucking job!”</p><p>Iwaizumi grins, elation sinking into his bones. “Thanks, Makki!” He pulls the boy into a one-armed hug, trying to spare him from getting too close to his sticky skin.</p><p>“I’m having a party at my place.” Hanamaki says with a punch to Iwaizumi’s arm. “Clean up and be there. It’s an end-of-school bash, but mainly a celebration of Oikawa’s rebellion against his parents. Hoorah!” He grins slyly. “Your crew is invited. Bring them.”</p><p>Iwaizumi is aware that his crew is mingling about them, <em>definitely </em>eavesdropping. Matsukawa pipes up. “<em>We’re </em>invited?” He asks, incredulous.</p><p>Hanamaki turns to Matsukawa and gives him a dirty, lazy grin. “Yes, <em>you all </em>are.” He responds easily. And then, “And <em>you, </em>specifically, better be there and find me, Eyebrows.” His words are all flirtation with no hint of jest.</p><p>Matsukawa doesn’t even miss a beat. “You got it, Pinky.”</p><p>Kuroo’s, “Ho? Ho, ho, ho?” rings out from <em>somewhere. </em>Iwaizumi blanches and shoves Hanamaki playfully. “Okay, <em>okay, </em>enough with the,” He waves his hands in the air frantically. “<em>Whatever </em>this is.”</p><p>Matsukawa rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Oh, please. Like we don’t have to deal with ‘whatever this is’ with you and Oikawa all the time.”</p><p>Hanamaki holds his hands up in exclamation. “<em>For real, man!”</em></p><p>Iwaizumi groans. “I’m <em>leaving.</em>” He says it like it’s a joke, but it’s not. He turns away to grab his things so he can run home to shower before heading over to Hanamaki’s. He pulls out his phone to see that Hanamaki has already sent him his address in a text, and then he shoots a message to the crew’s group chat, letting them know they’re invited to Hanamaki’s party. He shoves his items into his bag and takes a big gulp of water before someone excitedly tugs on his arm.</p><p>“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa is suddenly <em>there</em>, back in his sight after being swept away by his friends and fans. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his cheeks are pink. His eyes glimmer in the backstage lights like twinkling stars. Iwaizumi turns toward him automatically, like a moon being pulled into orbit. “You’re coming to Makki’s, right?”</p><p>Iwaizumi quirks his lips playfully. “I don’t know. I think I’m kind of tired of spending time with you and the rest of those shitheads.” He teases.</p><p>Oikawa’s smile is radiant as he grabs the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt and pulls him in close. “Good because I’m tired of you, too.” He blatantly lies. He leans forward and kisses Iwaizumi on the cheek, lips full and solid against Iwaizumi’s skin. He kisses his cheek again, closer to his lips, but pulls away when he’s hovering over his mouth. His nose bumps into Iwaizumi’s, breath tingling over his lips. Iwaizumi leans in like he’s magnetized, reaching up to slide his fingers along Oikawa’s side, but Oikawa pulls completely away before Iwaizumi can really close the distance.</p><p>Oikawa traps his bottom lip between his teeth and looks at Iwaizumi with a coy expression. His cheeks are a pretty pink and Iwaizumi really, <em>really </em>wants to kiss him. “Come to the party.” Oikawa ushers, voice a little breathless. <em>Come to the party, </em>he’s saying, <em>and I’ll kiss you for real.</em></p><p>As if Iwaizumi has any choice, really.</p><p>Iwaizumi nods because he can’t find his voice, is too afraid it will come out shaky and breathless if he tries to speak. Oikawa smiles and gives a sharp little nod before he turns and practically skips away.</p><p>Iwaizumi feels his heart trying to escape his ribcage as he shakily takes another sip of water. <em>What have I gotten myself into?</em></p><p>He smiles ruefully to himself. It’s a little too late to be asking that question.</p><p>---</p><p>Iwaizumi is drying his hair with a towel when his mom knocks on his bedroom door.</p><p>“Yeah?” He calls, tossing the towel to his bed. “It’s open, you can come in.”</p><p>His mom slips into his room with a smile. She takes in his black V-neck, dark jeans, and clean hair. “What’s this? You just got home after a big performance, and you’re heading out already?”</p><p>Iwaizumi bites his lip – he hadn’t really considered that his parents might not actually want him to head out again. “Is that okay?”</p><p>His mom regards him quietly for a moment and leans against the back of his door, crossing her arms. Instead of answering his question directly, she says, “You really did an amazing job up there tonight, Hajime. I’m proud of you.”</p><p>Her compliment makes him flush. He reaches up and scratches the back of his head nervously. “Thanks, ma. That means a lot. Really.” He smiles softly, and she gives him one in turn.</p><p>After a moment, she takes a deep breath. Once she exhales, she turns her gaze back to him. “It’s fine if you want to go back out tonight.” She says, but Iwaizumi knows that she is not finished with her statement. “But – Just – I just want to be sure. You and Oikawa, are you dating?”</p><p>Iwaizumi flushes tomato red. He opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again, embarrassment flushing through his veins. “I – Uhm.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s mom, to her credit, looks embarrassed to have to be having this conversation with her teenage son, too. She smiles in what she hopes is a comforting manner. “It’s totally okay if you are. I just want to know. I want you to be able to tell me these things.”</p><p>Iwaizumi feels a lot of things in that moment – gratitude, affection, embarrassment. He takes a deep breath and tries to still his beating heart. “I, well. I don’t actually know. Technically, no.” He manages to croak out. “We haven’t really talked about it.”</p><p>His mom gives him a contemplative look before saying, “Okay. Well, I just want to make sure you’re being safe.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s embarrassment increases ten-fold. “<em>Ma!” </em>He exclaims, burying his head in his hands. “We’re not – that’s <em>not </em>a concern!”</p><p>“Okay, okay!” Iwaizumi’s mom shows her hands in surrender. “I’ll stop with this discussion for now.” She throws him a sharp-toothed smile. “Go have fun and celebrate but be <em>good.</em>”</p><p>Iwaizumi throws a pillow at his mother. Her laughter echoes down the stairs as she retreats. It takes Iwaizumi a few minutes to recover from that awkward encounter, and he vows to avoid all conversation with his mother about relationships for the rest of his life.</p><p>---</p><p>As Iwaizumi slips down the stairs and goes to head out, his dad stops him. “Here, take this with you.”</p><p>He presses a brown paper bag into Iwaizumi’s grasp. At first, Iwaizumi thinks, <em>is my dad giving me alcohol?</em> but then he peeks into the bag and flushes brightly when he sees a box of condoms.</p><p>
  <em>“Dad!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>---</em>
</p><p>(He does not take the bag with him.)</p><p>---</p><p>It takes Iwaizumi twenty minutes to walk to Hanamaki’s. When Iwaizumi arrives, he discovers that most of his other friends are already there. Hanamaki lets him in with an affectionate smile. “Glad you turned up! Was thinking you were actually going to leave Oikawa hanging.”</p><p>Iwaizumi flushes and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Hanamaki bumps his shoulder with a fist. “Whatever, Iwaizumi. C’mon, the party’s this way.” He leads Iwaizumi down a series of halls, giving him a very brief tour of his expansive home. Each room has tall ceilings and beautiful carved oak furniture. It is apparent that Hanamaki’s parents have put a lot of time and effort into the design of their home.</p><p>They end up in a large living space where it appears most of the people are loitering. Hanamaki points to the alcove at the side of the room. “Kitchen is right over there, bathroom is down the hall to the left, and the backyard is also free game. The only place that is off limits is the upstairs. Make yourself at home.”</p><p>He gives Iwaizumi a friendly pat on the back before slinking off. Iwaizumi makes his way to the kitchen, nodding to a couple people on his way. There is a wide array of drinks to choose from, ranging from alcoholic to not. Vaguely, he wonders if people brought the alcohol or if it belongs to Hanamaki’s parents. Regardless, he grabs a cup and pours himself some soda, playing it safe.</p><p>“Well, look at this.” Oikawa’s voice breaks into the airwaves, demanding Iwaizumi’s attention. “You actually <em>do </em>own a pair of jeans.”</p><p>Iwaizumi turns towards the sound of Oikawa’s voice and sees the man leaning against the entryway to the kitchen. He is dressed in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and dark jeans. He looks freshly showered and as beautiful as ever. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and offers a lopsided grin. “Oh, you know, just saving the good stuff for special occasions.”</p><p>Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a flirty smile, deliberately running his gaze down Iwaizumi’s form as he steps in closer to the street dancer. “This certainly <em>is </em>the good stuff.” He coos.</p><p>Iwaizumi flushes and hides his smile behind his drink, bringing it to his lips and letting the sugary carbonation burst on his tongue. Oikawa reaches out and runs his fingers over Iwaizumi’s arm gently. “I wanted to say hi.” He says, almost shyly. Iwaizumi’s heart beats quickly in his chest. "Misaka wanted to chat with me about something, but I’ll find you again soon, yeah?” The statement is phrased as a question, but Iwaizumi isn’t sure why – it’s not like Iwaizumi is going anywhere. He’s mainly here for Oikawa as it is.</p><p>Iwaizumi raises a brow and gives a shrug that displays fake nonchalance. “Sure, I might be able to fit you into my schedule. I’ve got a large social circle, you know.”</p><p>Oikawa pretends to scoff indignantly. “Please, Iwa-chan, there are plenty of people who would kill for the opportunity to spend time with me. You should be honored.”</p><p>The grin on Iwaizumi’s face is one of complete amusement. “I hope you know you’re not as cool as you think you are.” He teases. He catches Misaka watching them from the living room, eyes sharp. Then, “Go on, Misaka looks like she’s going to murder you if you don’t go talk to her soon.”</p><p>Oikawa glances over his shoulder at the girl in question. He offers Iwaizumi an apologetic smile and then says, “Okay, I’ll be back.” He turns, and then over his shoulder, “Wait for me!”</p><p>Iwaizumi suppresses his smile. He forces himself to turn away or else he fears he’ll just stare at Oikawa for the entire night.</p><p>He mingles for a while but spends most of his time people-watching. The members of his crew have integrated themselves seamlessly into the environment. He spots Hanamaki and Matsukawa sitting on a couch in the living room. Matsukawa’s got his arms thrown back over the back of the couch, leaning into the cushion with an ankle crossed over a knee, looking every bit the image of relaxation, confidence, and comfort. But Iwaizumi recognizes the nervous tick of his fingers thrumming against the back cushions of the couch. Hanamaki is sitting next to him with his knees pulled up to his chest and his cheek resting on one knee, listening intently as Matsukawa talks. They look cozy and soft in a way that Iwaizumi has never seen them before.</p><p>The ruckus from the other side of the room comes from Hinata and Kageyama. The two are arguing, Iwaizumi thinks, but he can’t really tell because with those two, they could just be having a normal discussion in their books. He hears Hinata say something like, “I’m a <em>much </em>better Hip-Hop dancer than you! I’m going to be the <em>best </em>break-dancer.” and he watches as Kageyama scoffs, tall and cocky, and says, “Oh please, <em>I’m </em>going to be the best Hip-Hop dancer. Get out of here, you riffraff.”</p><p>Even from across the room, Iwaizumi can see Hinata’s brilliant eyes blaze with the challenge. He jumps up and down in excitement, arms pumping in the air with enough energy to charge the sun itself and starts bumbling about how he’s going to take Kageyama <em>down. </em>Yachi is trying to get Hinata to turn it down a notch, her hands raised helplessly.</p><p>
  <em>He’s got entirely too much energy. It’s no use, Yachi. </em>
</p><p>Kuroo and Bokuto are loudly chanting something in the kitchen. Iwaizumi can’t make out what it is, but he catches the glimpse of Akaashi and Kenma staring at the two with unimpressed expressions. Akaashi looks like he just absolutely <em>cannot </em>believe whatever Bokuto is saying is real – or maybe he just can’t believe that <em>Bokuto </em>himself is real, because sometimes Iwaizumi feels that way. Bokuto is bizarre.</p><p>He looks around for Daichi, mainly because he wants to make sure that he’s found Suga, given the two’s mutual interest in each other. He spots the dark-haired man sitting cross-legged in a group with Tanaka, Asahi, Noya, and Suga. Suga is sitting close enough to Diachi that his arm is pressed up against Daichi’s side. The sight makes Iwaizumi smile.</p><p>He’s <em>happy. </em>He was happy before – back when it was just him and the crew, back when he was dancing in the streets at the Grounds, doing his own thing. But now, he really feels it as if someone had found a block in his heart and slowly opened it up, without him even realizing it. He likes seeing his crew with the kids from school. He feels, for the first time in a long time, like he really belongs.</p><p>After he finishes his soda, he stands and stretches. He’s not sure where Oikawa has wandered off to, but he decides to take a stroll through Hanamaki’s extensive home to stretch his legs. Down the hall, there is another room with tall, tall ceilings and beautiful oak columns along the walls. Except unlike the living room, filled with seating and cozy décor, this room smells like paper and is filled with books.</p><p>It’s <em>literally </em>filled with books. The bookcases stretch from floor to ceiling. There are piles of books on the floor, on the desks, on a couple chairs. Iwaizumi idly wonders what Hanamaki’s parents must do to own this many books and this kind of house. He steps into the study quietly and lets his fingers trail along the spines of the books.</p><p>“Hey.” Oikawa’s voice nearly echoes through the vast space, filled with books and Iwaizumi and nothing else. Iwaizumi turns quickly, hand falling from the book spines. Oikawa wastes little time in moving closer. “I see you found Makki’s secret stash.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s brows jump up. “These are all Hanamaki’s?”</p><p>Oikawa nods, reaching out to trail one of his pretty pianist’s fingers along the spines. “Makki wants to be a playwright. He loves all the classic literature and plays. He’s pretty good at it, too.”</p><p>This is news to Iwaizumi. He thinks of the way Hanamaki moves so fluidly on the dance floor. “That’s pretty cool. Not what I would have expected, to be honest. He doesn’t really give off that vibe.”</p><p>Oikawa shrugs, smiling. “Just ask him about anything vaguely Shakespearean. He won’t shut up about it.” He crosses his arms and leans his shoulder against one of the bookcases, eyes trailing over Iwaizumi’s form in the dim lamplight.</p><p>Iwaizumi feels the tension coiling around them and thinks of the multiple almost-kisses they’ve shared. He clears his throat. “So, what did your parents have to say?”</p><p>Oikawa huffs out a laugh and leans his head to rest his temple on the bookshelf. “I haven’t talked to them. But I have four missed phone calls and a series of texts I’ll have to deal with after I get home.”</p><p>Concern laces its way through Iwaizumi’s chest. “Is that going to be a problem?”</p><p>“Maybe, but that’s not really on my mind right now.” Oikawa shrugs again.</p><p>Iwaizumi raises a brow. “Yeah? What’s on your mind right now, then?”</p><p>Oikawa’s lips curl up in a teasing smile. He reaches out and runs his fingers over the lines of Iwaizumi’s arm, stepping closer. His freshly-cleaned hair bounces against his forehead in a fluffy swoop that Iwaizumi wants to feel beneath his fingers. “Mmm,” He hums, lids falling as he looks at Iwaizumi with a heavy gaze. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s lips curl. He lets his fingers skim up Oikawa’s side until his hand can wrap around the crook of Oikawa’s waist. “I sure would.” He answers easily, complete honesty in his words.</p><p>Oikawa chews at his bottom lip in that coy way that he does, drawing attention to those pretty pink lips. He steps even closer and raises his other arm up to wrap around Iwaizumi’s neck, fingers tickling the hair at Iwaizumi’s nape. There is a raging fire between them, all hot heat and electricity that has charged up for months with nowhere to go. “I’ll give you three guesses.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi slips his other hand around Oikawa’s waist as well and maneuvers them so Oikawa’s back is pressed against the bookcase. “What do I get if I guess correctly?”</p><p>“A very special reward.”</p><p>“And if I’m wrong?”</p><p>With a sinful quirk of his lips, Oikawa smiles. “A very special punishment.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s blood ignites with desire. His eyes flutter as he presses closer so there is very little space between them, and he swallows hard. The intimacy is welcomed and familiar, given how often they have practiced together, but he knows that they are on the precipice of something more, of stepping into the deep end of what has been brewing between them since the first moment that they met. He is ready to see what those waters hold, even if he feels like he’s drowning.</p><p>“Fine, I’ll bite.” Iwaizumi decides, as if he had a choice in the matter – Oikawa’s claws are too far deep in Iwaizumi’s soul at this point. “You’re thinking about… how good the milkbread is at Janet’s bakery.”</p><p>Oikawa barks out a laugh, his head tilting back against the bookshelf. His hair falls over his forehead and his pretty eyes dance in the lamp light. <em>What a pretty little prep-school boy. </em>Mirth graces the lines of his face. It makes Iwaizumi’s head spin. “<em>Hajime</em>!” He exclaims, tilting his head back forward and bumping his nose with Iwaizumi’s. “Of course not. Is that what <em>you’re </em>thinking about? Food?”</p><p>Iwaizumi gives a joking half-shrug. “I <em>mean</em>, it’s <em>good-ass </em>milkbread, Oikawa.”</p><p>Oikawa chuckles again. “Two more guesses!” He taunts playfully. His nails scrape at Iwaizumi’s scalp at the nape of his neck, making Iwaizumi’s eyelashes flutter. The street dancer swallows the soft groan that tries to escape his throat.</p><p>When he meets Oikawa’s gaze, it is full of hunger. He lets his eyes rake over Oikawa’s features – the delicate skin beneath his pretty eyes, his button nose, his high cheekbones. The bow of his lips and the dusting of freckles over his skin. The angle of his jaw and the line of collarbone peeking out from beneath his V-neck shirt. He wants to press his teeth against the sensitive skin of his neck, drag his tongue over the roof of Oikawa’s mouth.</p><p>His gaze travels back up to meet Oikawa’s eyes, but he notices the soft tinge of rouge on Oikawa’s cheeks and the way his breathing has intensified from Iwaizumi’s wandering gaze. Iwaizumi offers a slow, lazy smile and tilts his head. “Are you thinking something <em>naughty</em>?”</p><p>Oikawa’s blush deepens. He tugs gently at Iwaizumi’s hair, and this time Iwaizumi <em>does </em>groan, low in his throat. Oikawa’s eyes widen, lips parting at the sound. “This isn’t Twenty Questions, <em>Hajime</em>.” He scolds, slightly breathless. “You guess, you don’t ask.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s grin broadens. “So you <em>are </em>thinking something naughty.” He flirts unabashedly, reveling in Oikawa’s pink skin. “You dirty little fox.”</p><p>Oikawa lets out a sound that is caught somewhere between a whine and a whimper. “That’s not – “</p><p>“You thinking about kissing me?”</p><p>Oikawa’s breath stutters in his throat. He swallows and licks his dry lips. His heart feels as if it’s going to jump right out of the cavity of his chest and straight into Iwaizumi’s. “I would hardly consider <em>kissing </em>a naughty activity.” He taunts, always stubborn.</p><p>But Iwaizumi’s lips pull into a cocksure smile, boyish and charming. “You might reconsider that after kissing me.”</p><p>His voice is low, breath hot and damp in the space between them. Something twists in Oikawa’s gut like pure, unadulterated desire. He lets out a soft, breathy sound and pulls Iwaizumi impossibly closer, back arching into the street dancer naturally. “<em>Shit</em>, okay – “ He stumbles, words a little frantic. “Yes, you’re right, <em>please kiss me.”</em></p><p>Iwaizumi doesn’t need to be asked twice because he <em>wants. </em>His stomach coils at Oikawa’s breathless plea, affection blossoming in his chest. He presses forward and finally, <em>finally</em> slides his lips against Oikawa’s.</p><p>Despite his teasing, Iwaizumi kisses him softly, just a slow press of lips, exploratory and gentle. Oikawa exhales through his nose, something like a sigh of release, and wraps his arms further around Iwaizumi’s neck so that his fingers fully slide into his hair. Iwaizumi slides his hands up Oikawa’s back, palms pressing flat against the taught plane of his shoulders to pull him closer.</p><p>Oikawa tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and Iwaizumi wastes no time in taking that invitation. He pulls back momentarily, hot breath puffing against Oikawa’s lips, and then presses forward again, this time sliding his tongue along Oikawa’s lip. Oikawa needs very little convincing to let Iwaizumi do as he pleases, quickly melting into a hot puddle of desire after months of unresolved tension.</p><p>Iwaizumi licks into Oikawa’s mouth, and when his tongue teases his sensitive upper palate, Oikawa releases a soft moan that makes Iwaizumi’s blood run hot. Oikawa’s nails scrape over his scalp and Iwaizumi presses himself so close that there is no space left between their bodies. His hands slide forward over Oikawa’s hips, fingerprints pressing into the soft dips of his hipbones through his shirt, dancing over the smooth skin that teases him when Oikawa shifts just enough for his shirt to lift.</p><p>Oikawa pulls away after a few moments and tilts his head back to catch his breath. He is flushed from his ears to his collarbones and Iwaizumi thinks he looks absolutely delicious. He kisses down his jaw and nips at the sensitive flesh of his ear, lips sliding over soft, delicate skin.</p><p>Oikawa lets out a soft breath of approval and buries his hand in Iwaizumi’s hair, encouraging his exploration. After a moment, he breathes out, “Remember the night you took me to the Grounds?”</p><p>With a gentle nip to Oikawa’s ear, Iwaizumi responds, “Yeah?”</p><p>Oikawa’s body is <em>so </em>responsive, and Iwaizumi revels in it. “You were so hot.” Oikawa babbles, as if he has wanted to admit the words for a while. “Oh my god, when you picked me up – “</p><p>As if on cue, Iwaizumi slides his hands around, skimming over Oikawa’s ass teasingly to grip at his thighs. He bends down and hefts Oikawa up with ease, pressing his back to the bookshelf. Oikawa lets out a startled sound and wraps his legs around Iwaizumi’s hips, fingers clenching in Iwaizumi’s hair.</p><p>“Like that?” He asks, cocky grin sliding across his face.</p><p>In this position, Oikawa has to tilt his head just slightly to look down at him. His heart is thundering in his chest. His eyes trail over Iwaizumi’s arms, appreciating the way they flex to hold him up. He, once again, finds himself impressed that Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to have any trouble with this position.</p><p>Licking his lips, Oikawa nods. When he answers, it is airy. “Yes.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s grin widens. “Do you like being picked up?”</p><p>Oikawa looks away, sticking up his nose slightly. “I just think it’s impressive that you don’t seem to struggle with picking up an entire human, is all.”</p><p>“No, you think it’s <em>hot</em>.” Iwaizumi teases, skimming his nose against Oikawa’s collarbone. “You like feeling a little out of control, don’t you?” He murmurs, letting his teeth nip at the junction between Oikawa’s shoulder and neck. Oikawa’s head tilts back, breath stuttering. “You like it because it feels dirty. A little dangerous.”</p><p>Oikawa can’t help the moan that falls from his lips. He pants softly and looks back so he can meet Iwaizumi’s smoldering gaze. “Don’t presume, Hajime.”</p><p>Iwaizumi smirks. “I’m not.” He adjusts so that he can hold Oikawa with only one hand. When he lifts his free hand, he lets his fingers slide over Oikawa’s lips, gently tugging the bottom one down. It is a seductive and <em>hot </em>touch. Oikawa feels his body jolt with the realization that Iwaizumi is now only holding him with <em>one arm. </em>“It’s why you like me – because I make you feel that way.”</p><p>There is a retort on the tip of Oikawa’s tongue – <em>Now, now, Iwa-chan, no one ever said I like you – </em>but he can’t bring himself to continue this game right now. He feels compromised, open, and <em>seen. </em>It feels <em>good. </em>He whimpers softly and tucks his fingers around Iwaizumi’s ears to cup his jaw. He pulls the street dancer’s face upward toward him. “Just fucking kiss me, Hajime.”</p><p>Iwaizumi laughs into the kiss when their lips meet. The kiss is quick to turn dirty – slick lips and hot tongues, teeth scraping against skin. Oikawa slides his hands down to tug at Iwaizumi’s shirt, pulling it up from between them. The angle is awkward with the way Iwaizumi is holding him, but he manages to trail his slender fingers down and under the soft cotton, pressing into the hot skin of Iwaizumi’s stomach and chest. A nail grazes over a sensitive nipple, and Iwaizumi’s mouth releases from Oikawa’s skin, a hot moan falling from between his lips. Oikawa’s hips are moving of their own accord, grinding in slow, hot circles against Iwaizumi.</p><p>When Oikawa experimentally gives a nipple a gentle twist, Iwaizumi pulls back, panting. He rests his forehead against Oikawa’s shoulder and says, “We should – We should <em>really </em>stop.”</p><p>Oikawa swallows the whine in his throat. His fingers rest over Iwaizumi’s chest, going idle. He takes a moment to catch his breath and licks his lips, spit slick and sensitive from Iwaizumi’s mouth. “Yeah – Yeah, okay.” He agrees because Iwaizumi’s right. If they don’t stop, they might <em>not </em>be able to, and he doesn’t want this to move too fast, doesn’t want to ruin whatever <em>this </em>is because of his raging hormones.</p><p>Iwaizumi lets Oikawa down gently and he wobbles a little on unsteady legs. Iwaizumi’s smirk is arrogant, so Oikawa pulls him into another slow burning kiss to wipe it away. When he pulls back, Iwaizumi’s gaze is heavy-lidded, cheeks pink and lips swollen. Oikawa thinks it’s a good look on him.</p><p>Only a moment passes before Iwaizumi blurts out, “What does this mean?”</p><p>Oikawa blinks into the space between them, albeit little. “What does <em>what </em>mean?” He questions back.</p><p>Iwaizumi reaches up and swipes his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, gentle and reverent, making Oikawa’s heart swoon. “<em>This. </em>Us. Are we…?”</p><p>With a roll of his eyes, Oikawa whacks Iwaizumi on the shoulder lightly. “I don’t tend to let people pick me up, press me against bookshelves, and kiss me silly unless I intend for it to be a regularly scheduled activity, Hajime.” He says, though he regrets it when he sees Iwaizumi’s grin.</p><p>“Okay, good.” Iwaizumi says, honest and raw. “Because I <em>really</em> want this to be a regularly scheduled activity for us.”</p><p>Oikawa smiles and pulls Iwaizumi in to kiss him again.</p><p>---</p><p>At the end of the night, Oikawa finds himself alone outside of his house. He hadn’t bothered to listen to his parents’ voicemails or read their text messages because his anxiety is already high enough. He shifts from one foot to the other before finding his resolve. With a deep exhale, he unlocks the front door as quietly as he can and slips into the house.</p><p>He kicks off his shoes in the entryway and pads his way down the hall. He can see the glow of the living room light that he won’t be able to avoid on his way upstairs to his bedroom. He steels himself as he turns the corner and steps into the light.</p><p>The living space is exactly as it always has been. There is a beautiful grand piano in the corner of the room with a cello set up next to it. Their wide sectional cuts through the middle of the room, separating it from their grandiose kitchen that his mother absolutely had to have when the house was built. Their entertainment system stands against the wall, with its one-of-a-kind, homemade, brick outcropping. The tall ceilings remind him of Hanamaki’s house – he’s always loved them, has always been grateful for the privilege he has had to live in this home.</p><p>There is a large plush chair in the corner of the room that his mother has always adored, so big that two people can easily fit comfortably in it. She is perched in it now, glasses upon her nose, one leg hitched over the other, and dull lamplight casting a glow about her. She is a delicate-looking woman, much like Oikawa himself, with pretty chestnut locks of hair and plush lips.</p><p>“I was actually starting to worry that you weren’t going to come home, Tooru.” She says in place of a greeting.</p><p>Oikawa gives a half-hearted shrug, trying to play off his anxiousness as nonchalance. “That would have just made this worse, I’d bet.”</p><p>His mother looks at him with a scrutinizing gaze. She tilts her head and pats the space next to her on her favorite chair. “And what do you think ‘this’ is?”</p><p>Oikawa slowly makes his away across the room and sits down close to his mother. He doesn’t meet her gaze, instead choosing to turn it up toward their tall ceilings. “You know, your anger at my performance.”</p><p>There is a long, heavy silence that passes. Oikawa almost gives in and turns his gaze back to his mother, but she speaks before it comes to that. “Is that what you thought we’d be? Angry?”</p><p>At that, Oikawa <em>does </em>look back at her, obviously in disbelief. “There’s no way that you’re <em>not?”</em> It is both a statement and a question.</p><p>Oikawa’s mom lets out a soft exhale before reaching up to run her fingers through her son’s hair, so similar to her own. “Tooru,” She says, “Your father and I are only upset that you feel you can’t trust us with this information.” She pauses, trailing soft fingers over his cheek. “We love you no matter who you love, sweetheart.”</p><p>Realization hits Oikawa like a freight train that <em>they are not having the same conversation right now. </em>His cheeks flush a deep burgundy. “Oh – Oh, no, mom,” He sputters, holding his hands up defensively, “Is that – Iwa-chan and I – we – “</p><p>His mom rolls her eyes and tugs on his ear teasingly. “Stop, Tooru. Don’t even try. You are my <em>son</em>.”</p><p>Oikawa feels an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, his eyes suddenly prickling with wetness. “I – Okay, but – “</p><p>“<em>And,</em>” His mom continues before he can speak, “Your performance was <em>phenomenal.</em>” Her words are honest and kind, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a smile. “You really integrated all of your talents well – and, what did you call him, Iwa-chan? Your Iwa-chan is quite the talent himself.”</p><p>Oikawa is absolutely stunned. The sting in his eyes spills over, his cheeks dampening with stray tears. His mom offers him a soft smile, wrapping her arm around his shoulders to pull him into her chest. He curls his legs up as if he were a small child again and lets himself be held against her side. With a sniffle and a full, full heart, he says, “Thanks mom.” And then, after a beat, “His name is Iwaizumi Hajime.”</p><p>---</p><p>It is the first day of his second year at Seijou School for the Arts. Iwaizumi hikes his bag up over his shoulder and takes on last look in the mirror, straightening out his signature black and red snapback. He’s got it slung on backwards as usual, tamping down his dark spikes of hair.</p><p>He doesn’t have a difficult time finding his classroom today. His first class is focused on Jazz-style dancing. He thinks it’ll be interesting to get some new techniques under his belt. He might have something to bring back and teach his crew.</p><p>A familiar tuft of pink hair gives Hanamaki away where he is leaning against the wall outside the door to his classroom. There is a tall head of messy hair standing close to him, bushy eyebrows nice and familiar.</p><p>“Makki, if you make Mattsun late for Contemporary Dance, you know Ukai is going to have his head – <em>and </em>yours.”</p><p>The pair waves Iwaizumi off with lazy nonchalance. Matsukawa waggles his eyebrows at Iwaizumi. “Jeez, Iwaizumi, you kind of sound like a concerned mom.” He teases. “I think you’re becoming a little domesticated. What happened to our good ol’ rowdy street dancer?”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and flicks him off good-naturedly. Hanamaki’s and Matsukawa’s laughter rings behind him as he enters the classroom.</p><p>There are many familiar faces mingling about. Akaashi is stretching in the corner. Kenma is typing away at his cellphone, trying to beat a new level on his phone game. Yamaguchi is showing a picture from a magazine to Tsukishima, who looks uninterested but nods along anyway. Asahi and Suga are chatting amicably on a bench on the other side of the room.</p><p>He knows Kageyama isn’t taking Jazz this semester in favor of Hip-Hop. He thinks of Hinata’s excitement when Kageyama said he was going to become the best Hip-Hop dancer of the two. Hinata loves a good challenge. Iwaizumi can’t wait to see where they end up.</p><p>His gaze sweeps around the room one more time.</p><p>“You lost, street rat?”</p><p>
  <em>Ah, there he is. </em>
</p><p>Iwaizumi turns to see Oikawa standing in the entryway. A hand rests on his hip, the other hanging on to the bag that is slung over his shoulder. His hair is perfectly styled, fluffy wisps curling over his forehead. His skin is slightly tanned from the summer, making the subtle freckles of his nose more prominent. His pretty eyes dance with delight as Iwaizumi meets his gaze.</p><p>Iwaizumi grins. “Nope.” He says. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”</p><p>---</p><p>
  <em>Fin.</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>twitter~<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/rekamohcss">come yell at me over there</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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